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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26857417">The Falcon and The Lion</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mona_liar/pseuds/mihawque'>mihawque (mona_liar)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Serpent, the Falcon &amp; the Lion [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Piece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Bi Aro Shanks, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Gay Dracule Mihawk, Graphic Description of Injury, M/M, Mihawk is Rayleigh and Shakky's Son, Multi, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Public Execution, Stand Alone, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Man Dracule Mihawk, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, character introspection, relationship introspection, slave trade (mentioned)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:29:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>22,600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26857417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mona_liar/pseuds/mihawque</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Warlord and the Emperor, the strongest Swordsman in the World and his Rival, Dracule Mihawk and Red Haired Shanks; their fame is widespread over the 6 Oceans. Even the strongest fighters of the Grand Line fear them. They are friends, some say, while others talk about bitter and eternal enemies. One thing is sure: these two have known each other for a long time, and their history is complicated. </p><p>[Can be read as a stand-alone without any prior knowledge of the “The Serpent, The Falcon and the Lion”-series]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks &amp; Dracule Mihawk, Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Dracule Mihawk (one-sided), Dracule Mihawk &amp; Silvers Rayleigh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Serpent, the Falcon &amp; the Lion [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. First meeting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>At age 16 and with the first bounty fresh to his name, Mihawk did not expect to be overrun by his father’s crew before he could have breakfast.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much for clicking on this fic!</p><p>We start the first chapter off way in the past, 2 years before Roger became Pirate King. The year is 1497, Mihawk is 16 and Shanks is 12 years old.</p><p>If you find any grammar mistakes and/or typos, please tell me, so I can correct them! English isn't my first language, so mistakes are bound to happen one way or another. </p><p>I hope you have fun and enjoy this fic!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mihawk had already sailed and seen more of the world than the average civilian; he knew it was smaller than most imagined it to be. This did not mean he was thrilled when he woke up and saw a pirate ship approach the island he had decided to rest on. It was nice, all things considered, a fall island, neither unbearably cold nor overwhelmingly hot, just enough to require a warm blanket and a fire to keep the animals away at night and it was perfectly empty of all other human activity.</p><p>The approaching ship was neither big nor small, nothing close to either extremes. Through his telescope, Mihawk could make out the jolly roger, white skull on black cloth with an extravagant moustache. In the few years since they had begun appearing in the newspaper regularly, Mihawk still did not understand why they had chosen this symbol to represent them to the entire world. It did not matter, anyway. The Roger Pirates were on their way to the island and Mihawk was not in the mood to hastily leave it. He sighed. In some way, it would be nice to see his father again. It had been several years after all, and the letters on the open seas were far and few between. Mihawk simply wished the Roger Pirates didn’t have such an infamous reputation of being joyful, loud drunkards which had only worsened over the years. The day had started off in blissful quiet, after all, and useless ruckus would be a great loss.</p><p>Mihawk blew lightly on the smouldering ambers to bring the flames back to life and dug the grounded beans and his last bottle of fresh water out of his bag to prepare a fresh jug of coffee. If he was lucky, some crewmembers would ask if they could have a cup rather than arrive slightly buzzed with a bottle of rum in their hand. He could only hope so.</p><p> </p><p>The sharp and bitter aroma of the coffee filled the air. Mihawk had already drunk one cup when the pirates finally made their way to shore. It wasn’t the entire crew, that much he could make out from the size of the group making its way towards him. He leaned against his sword, stuck in the sand and serving as a backrest, filled himself another cup of coffee and continued to wait.</p><p>The first person to arrive was a young boy with hair as red as the setting sun and a straw-hat on his head. He seemed to be a few years younger than Mihawk, barely a toe into puberty, but Mihawk could already feel the hot simmering pressure of Haki coming off him in regular waves. In a few years, when he had grown and learned more about the world, his skills and fighting, and if they were to meet again, he would make for an interesting opponent.</p><p>“Hey, you’re the man from Ray’s cabin! The one from the bounty poster over his desk!” The boy’s voice was loud and bright and incredibly annoying. Mihawk took another sip of coffee and watched as the boy came closer until he was right in front of him and grinned down with the energy of a thousand suns.</p><p>“Hey, Rayleigh! Your son is here!”, he shouted in the direction he had just come from and let himself fall into the cold sand. “I’m Shanks, nice to meet you!”</p><p>The annoying grin did not disappear for a single moment.</p><p>Mihawk nodded in acknowledgement and kept his gaze fixed on his father who was slowly approaching with the rest of the group. He must had known of Mihawk’s presence the moment he stepped on it, if not long before. Maybe he had felt it all the way back on the ship. His Haki had never been anything to take lightly and Mihawk had not the slightest idea how much it had improved since they had last seen each other. Shanks was only giving the old man information he already knew.</p><p>“You know, normally people introduce themselves back,” he said, still staring at Mihawk.</p><p>“You already know my name.” If what he had said about Rayleigh keeping his bounty poster in his room was true, at least.</p><p>“You don’t talk much, do you?”, Shanks continued, unperturbed by Mihawk’s lack of retaliation.</p><p>“Mmh.”</p><p>“Well, I’ve heard a lot about you. Your bounty is impressive and Rayleigh boasts a lot about you once you get him started. I’m a swordsman too! We should fight one day. Or you could fight Buggy. He has eaten a Devil Fruit and is invulnerable to blades, you know? I bet that would be interesting.”</p><p>Would the boy ever shut up? Although, someone unharmed by his blades <em>would</em> make for an interesting fight, that much was true. It sounded like the powers of a paramecia. Depending on the actual ability, it could be as simple as using Haki to strike him down or make for a much more exciting challenge.</p><p>“Shanks! Don’t be so loud boy, for the Ocean’s sake. It’s too early for this shit.” Rayleigh only grumbled the last part, spoken mostly to himself. Mihawk could sympathise. He reached out to his bag to get a second mug for coffee, which Rayleigh immediately waved off.</p><p>“Don’t bother. The others are on their way with breakfast, they’re just waiting for Roger to finish pampering himself.”</p><p>“Mmh”, Mihawk hummed, yet still filled the cup with coffee and passed it to Shanks, who was looking curiously at the beverage.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said and took a sniff at the vapour emerging from the cup. Rayleigh slowly lowered himself into a cross-legged sitting position, slightly groaning.</p><p>“Fuck, I’m never drinking again.”</p><p>Mihawk stayed silent and continued to drink his coffee. Rayleigh’s vow to alcoholic-abstinence was a mere formality when he was hungover. It would be rude to point it out again.</p><p>“So, <em>Dracule Mihawk</em>, huh? I’m hurt, but not surprised. You’ve always had a flair for the dramatic,” his father grinned, mockingly.</p><p>“What can I say, Rayleigh? Your name just doesn’t have enough panache.”</p><p>When the Marine officer, lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, had asked Mihawk for his name, he had thought about taking Rayleigh’s family name, to let the Marine Headquarters know that Silver Rayleigh’s son had taken to the sea. But ultimately <em>Silvers Mihawk</em> didn’t have the same ring to it and he was not ready to change his first name. Now that he had begun building a reputation for himself, he was glad about this decision. There would be nothing but problems if it were revealed he was the son of the Roger Pirates’s first mate.</p><p>“Ah, that hurts, boy. My name has all the ‘panache’ I need, thank you very much. What is it with you young people and your lack of respect for your elders?”, Rayleigh said, chuckling.</p><p>Mihawk grinned and drank another sip of coffee.</p><p>“But really, <em>Mihawk</em>? I mean, it does sound much more like you than one of these flowery names from Amazon Lily your mother had originally chosen for you, but was one avian related name not enough for you? Hawkeye. The Marines must have hired someone new, the epithets they come up with get more and more ridiculous.”</p><p>“That’s a very bold claim to make, Dark King.”</p><p>Rayleigh laughed, loud, full hearted, from the very bottom of his stomach. Mihawk noticed how Shanks starred at them in fascination.</p><p>“What’s with you? Do you have a bounty already?”, Mihawk asked to include the boy in the conversation. Shanks shook his head with great enthusiasm.</p><p>“Not yet, but when I do, it will be the best epithet in the world, much better than your or Rayleigh’s! Something really awesome like “The Terror of the Seas”!”</p><p>“Shut up, it’ll for sure be something really lame, like ‘red haired’ Shanks. You’ll have the dumbest epithet in the world!”</p><p>The interruption came from another boy, who looked to be around Shanks’s age, with the exception that he had bright blue hair, like the sky on a clear day. What was much more disconcerting, however, was his bright red and round nose, as if someone had artificially glued it onto his face. It looked ridiculous.</p><p>“And stop fucking lazing around! Come help up with the food or you won’t get anything for breakfast!” As he was saying this, the blue haired boy began kicking Shanks in the sides with what looked like concerning strength.</p><p>“Hah, as if! Ray, tell him-“</p><p>“Go help with the preparations, Shanks, or you won’t get anything to eat.”</p><p>“What? That’s so unfair, Rayleigh, you can’t do that to me! Buggy, tell him that-“ Before Shanks could finish his sentence, he was being dragged through the sand by his clownish friend.</p><p>Mihawk watched, laughing, and took another sip of coffee. He had to pay great attention not to spill any on his white shirt. It was his last clean one and he had neither the desire nor the time to make laundry today. If he stayed a few days longer on this deserted island, he could just walk around topless, but he had already planned to make port at the next island this evening and even as a summer island, he had no intention of getting into unnecessary fights because people did not recognise that anyone carrying a sword on the Grand Line was not someone to harass in the streets about the size of their bust.</p><p>“I didn’t know you’d taken on any Cabin Boys,” Mihawk said, starring at the camp the crew was building. They were fast and efficient; he could already see the faint tendrils of smoke betraying a camp fire. Maybe he could take advantage of their provisions and indulge in the food they had brought as soon as they had finished cooking. Feeding his own child was the least Rayleigh  could do for him, after all.</p><p>“Oh, yes, it was more of a coincidence if anything. The inevitable consequence of Roger not keeping his strength in check, that idiot.”</p><p>In silence, they watched the Roger Pirates continue to hurry around.</p><p>“Have you spoken to your mother lately?”, Rayleigh asked after a few moments, turning around to face Mihawk, gaze drilling into his eyes. His father had always had the unnerving skill of not letting himself be intimidated or distracted by his son’s eponymous eyes, something Mihawk was not used to. He stared back, refusing to blink.</p><p>“Not in a long time. Why?”</p><p>As he said this, Rayleigh’s grin widened, turning into a something akin to what a tiger might look like when it has finally set eyes on its unsuspecting pray.</p><p>“Well, in that case, let be me the bearer of happy news, my son.”</p><p>A slight shiver ran down Mihawk’s spine. Despite his own flair for theatrical announcements, Rayleigh never called him “my son”. Whatever the old man had prepared, it could be nothing  good.</p><p>“What news?”, he asked, vary, doing his best to appear relaxed and nonchalant. He took another big sip.</p><p>“As it turns out, you have three younger sisters!”</p><p>Mihawk spit his hot coffee into the cold, dry sand.</p><p>“I have <em>what?</em>”</p><p>Once more, Rayleigh laughed. It was as if it was the only thing the man could do. Mihawk simply looked at him in disbelief. At the edge of his perception, he could hear the bright, prepubescent voice of Shanks calling them to breakfast.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, first of all: Mihawk and Shanks are so fun to write! But considering how stoic and serious Mihawk is as an adult, it was really difficult to fit the right tone for him in this chapter. He’s 16! A whole ass teenager! He does dumb shit like give himself the most extra name possible and do stare-offs with his super famous dad because he can! All the while trying to appear serious and dangerous!<br/>Does this read right? I really don’t know, lmao.<br/>Also, I can seriously imagine the Marines being kind of shit information wise. You could probably proclaim yourself on a battlefield with whatever name you feel like and they would print that on the respective bounty poster. It’s not like bureaucracy truly exists for pirates.<br/>Now, last but not least: The three younger sisters Rayleigh mentions in the very last lines are Boa Hancock, Sandersonia and Marigold. You can read more about them in the first instalment of this series “The Serpent and the Falcon” (well, it’s mostly Hancock  if I’m being honest) but they’re not particularly relevant for the rest of the story.<br/>I hope you liked the chapter and see you next week for Chapter Number 2!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. To those who die smiling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The execution of Gol D. Roger makes waves across the ocean. Some take it harder than other. For Mihawk, it’s the worst of times to discover how difficult it can be to console teenagers and that alcohol, in fact, isn’t the solution to all the world’s problems.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Slight time skip, the year is now 1500; Mihawk is 19 years old and Shanks 15.<br/>Also, I know that it’s very sunny at the beginning of Roger’s execution and only begins to rain afterwards, but if I’m being honest, I could not be bothered to describe the weather change so now it rains the whole way through.<br/>Additional side-note: For the quotes from One Piece in this chapter, they’re from the manga, not the anime, so differences might occur.<br/>I hope you enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day of Gol D. Rogers execution was one of many tears. Even the sky cried, whether in grief over the man whose life was lost, or the many more that would be taken in the years to come, was impossible to know.</p><p>The cold water sloshed around Mihawk’s boot as he walked to the central plaza. It was already crowded, people standing on the tip of their toes to catch at least a glimpse, or pushing each other to get the best view one of the side streets could afford. Those who recognised Mihawk, however, parted before him as if he were a rock and they merely the river.</p><p>The execution platform was reaching high into the sky  at the opposite end of the square, still completely empty. Marine soldiers were dispatched around it, standing in neat lines, keeping the crowd away and prepared to intercept any member of the crew who would attempt to free their captain. Mihawk knew none of them would attempt such a thing. When he had run into Rayleigh weeks earlier, his father’s heart had been heavy with sorrow, but not with anger. Roger had turned himself in, he had said, and this is what the captain wanted. To go on his own terms, with one last bang. Mihawk had not been able to keep his curiosity in check. He left his father behind and made his way to a town on a small island in the weakest of the weak four blues.</p><p>And so Mihawk waited. Waited for the explosion he knew would come.</p><p>Civilians were drawn to the execution of the Pirate King, making up the majority of the crowd. Gold Roger, they called him, and lusted after the spectacle as if a man’s death was the equivalent of a nice Sunday stroll. Mihawk wondered if any of them had ever seen someone die before, die <em>violently</em>, with a blade through their chest and pain in their eyes and life leaving them before they could agree to the terms of this last, eternal deal. The people watching would see none of this here, Mihawk knew. Despite his acquaintance with Roger being fleeting, a breakfast several years ago and the stories from his father, all embellished by the things Mihawk knew to read between the lines of the newspaper, Roger was not the type of man who would go the way other people wanted him to. The World Government hoped to make an example of him, to scare other pirates and make anyone who might think of standing up against them cower in fear and hopelessness, but their plan would fail. The Pirate King had an ace up his sleeve, something allowing him to turn the table and the entire world upside down. Mihawk was left guessing what specific form this ace took.</p><p> </p><p>Civilians were not the only ones who had made their way to this once in a lifetime event. From his place in the crowd, Mihawk could see other pirates, criminals, all with impressive bounties on their head. Through the dark, grey curtains of rain, he could even see a flaming head of red hair, even though it was mostly hidden by a straw hat with a red ribbon.</p><p>The constant murmur of people stopped abruptly. All the people around Mihawk turned their head to the right. He kept his gaze fixed on the execution platform. This if were the important things would happen, and he would not miss one second of it. As Roger walked up the steps to the wooden planks he would die on, Mihawk could see the man he had met on a small island and shared breakfast with had not changed. Overall, he looked exactly the same and yet, there was something different about him. Could a title, arbitrary as it might be, change someone this much? Or had Roger simply had the time to fully grow into the man he had always been?</p><p>The plaza stayed silent as the Great Pirate King sunk to his knees. His hands were bound; there was nowhere for him to escape to, no desire for him to be free of his shackles. During all of this, he was smiling. Not the smile of someone forcing themselves to look Death in the eye without the courage to show fear, but the honest, true smile of a man who had accomplished everything he had ever wanted and with no burdens that could drag him down, not even in the after-life.</p><p>No charges were not announced, they did not need to. Gold Roger would die because he was the Pirate King, it was as simple as that. The executioners walked up to the platform, blades raised high, glinting once before crossing in front of him, singing the song of their blood-drunk steel.</p><p>“Hey, Roger? Where did you hide the One Piece?”, someone shouted.</p><p>Roger still smiled.</p><p>“Want my ultimate treasures? It’s possible… I will give them to those who can find them. I have gathered everything in this world and already hidden them in ‘that’ place,” he shouted, calmly yet for everyone to hear. If he wanted to say any more, he was not given the time. In one final blow the Pirate King, Gol D. Roger, was speared, and his Life with him.</p><p>The crowd erupted in cheerful cries. Great joy would fill the burses of all the bars in town this night, that much was certain. Mihawk simply watched Roger’s corpse as it continued to sit on the platform. He could not observe it with utter certainty from his vantage point, but he would bet that even in Death, that man was still smiling.</p><p> </p><p>Quickly enough, the square emptied. As soon as Roger’s corpse was carried away, covered with a blanket so no one would get any second look of him, people began to leave. An hour later, it was nearly deserted. The streets were abandoned as well. As soon as the spectacle was over, everyone seemed to have retreated to drier places quickly, unwilling to withstand the downpour. Mihawk blinked the rain from his eyes, which was a futile endeavour as long as the water continued to fall incessantly. Maybe he should buy himself a hat. It could protect him from the weather, both sun and rain alike, and if he found the right one, look quite stylish as well. He would have a look in the next bigger cities he travelled through. First, Mihawk decided, he would leave the island. There was nothing left for him to do here. The currents and the wind would surely bring him to an interesting place.</p><p>Something disturbed the calm and monotone sound of falling rain. Curious, Mihawk stopped. To his left was an alley, small and dark, with tall crates piled up against the walls. And behind all those crates, someone was hiding.</p><p>Mihawk did not think of himself as a person of overwhelming curiosity. However, if there was something interesting and it required him to change his plans to witness it, he was not averse to doing so. Carefully, he stepped off the main street and into the not-so-empty alley.</p><p>The sound of heavy, irregular breathing, interrupted by hoarse and painful inhaling grew louder. What- or more likely <em>who</em>ever was hiding there was right behind the last crate.</p><p>When Mihawk finally saw who was covering there, sitting on the cold and muddy floor, he could not help but feel ignorant in hindsight. With his luck, it could not have been anyone else.</p><p>Shanks was completely soaked through from the rain, as evident by his shirt clinging to his skin, and downright sobbing. He looked up to Mihawk with red, puffy eyes.</p><p>“What?”, he asked. His voice was husky, and broke in the middle of the word. Whether from grief or as one of the more unfortunate side-effects of puberty, Mihawk could not say. He sighed. It was likely he was going to regret doing this, but Shanks had just witnessed losing his captain and Mihawk was no monster. It would be hard on anyone.</p><p>“Get up. Let’s get you somewhere dry. The first round is on me.”</p><p>Shanks continued to stare at him for a few more seconds. Then, he stood up, slowly, still sniffling. He beat his trousers, as if to get rid of dust. It did not help in the slightest with all the dirt clinging to his clothes from his prolonged state on the ground. If he ever wanted his clothes to be clean again, he would have to burn everything he was wearing and get himself new ones, beginning with those horrid sandals he was wearing. Rayleigh wore similar ones and Mihawk was sick of seeing them. But he stayed quiet and gave Shanks the time to get up on his own. He could make him aware of his stylish misdemeanours another time, preferably when there were no tears or life-changing sorrow involved.</p><p>When Shanks finally looked steady enough to walk, Mihawk made his way to a small bar in a small street, small and hidden enough that he hoped there would still be a place free for them. He had taken a room there for the previous night, and as he had paid the full price without complaining, they had been discreet enough not to alert the Marines of his presence. If they made no fuss, Shanks would be able to pour out his heart and talk about his late captain and crew all he liked without risking to find himself in a prison cell, even if someone happened to eavesdrop on them.</p><p>It was only a walk of ten minutes, which they spent in silence. Shanks did not say anything and Mihawk did not feel like making small talk. When they walked into the bar, he went in first. The bartender, the same man to whom he had given back the key to his room this morning, welcomed him with a small nod, but did not say anything. No one looked up from their glasses as Mihawk made his way to a small table in the corner, one of the few that was still free, and Shanks followed him.</p><p>He leaned his swords against the table and waited until Shanks had let himself fall into the chair.</p><p>“Wait here,” Mihawk said, perhaps unnecessarily so. It did not look like Shanks had the energy do move anywhere, but at least it was something to say that did not feel completely out of place or lacking any sense of tact he might possess; which was — according to numerous people at least — not much to begin with.</p><p>Without waiting for an answer, Mihawk made his way to the bar. He bought himself a small carafe of wine and Shanks a mug of light beer. The goal was to drown his sorrows, after all, not create new ones for him to wake up to. Shanks barely looked up when Mihawk put the wooden mug down in front of him.</p><p>“To Gol D. Roger.”</p><p>“To the Captain.” Shanks’s voice still sounded strained as he returned the toast and consequently took a large gulp.</p><p>“Thank you for the invitation,” he added curtly. </p><p>Mihawk hummed in acknowledgement. “You look like you need it.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Shanks laughed. It was dry and hopeless and did not fit the loud and annoying child Mihawk had gotten to know at the beach, or the stories Rayleigh had told him about the boy. It did not fit anyone from the Roger crew, if he was being honest.</p><p>“I just can’t believe it’s all over, you know?” Shanks continued. Mihawk hummed, signalling that he was listening without interrupting him. “We’ve all sailed together for years and now everyone is… <em>gone</em>. Just like that. I knew it would end, fuck, it ended a year ago, but nothing could prepare me for it actually happening. Roger’s <em>dead</em>. And they all <em>cheered</em> and <em>laughed</em> as if the death of a man is something to be celebrated. I guess it is; for them, at least. We were pretty awful when we wanted to, I’ll give them that.” Shanks grinned, but it was a grimace more than it was a true showing of joy or mockery. His pain showed through like light through frosted glass. “All the others followed his orders and are now doing their own thing. Crocus is back at the Twin Cape with his wale, Oden in Wano… And I’m <em>here</em>, I saw the execution against the captains wishes, and I’m <em>alone</em>.” Shanks’s voice broke again. He rubbed his eyes, likely wiping away tears before Mihawk could see them. “I asked Buggy if he would join my crew, y’know. And you know what he said? ‘<em>I’ll never be part of your crew, idiot!’</em>”</p><p>His voice went high, in a bad imitation of the other apprentice. He took another gulp of beer.</p><p>“How do you do it?”, Shanks asked.</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>“Being alone all the time.”</p><p>“How did you manage to be around people all the time for the last 6 years?”, Mihawk asked back.</p><p>“That’s how it’s always been.”</p><p>“Exactly.”</p><p>Shanks looked at Mihawk with a blank stare.</p><p>“You’re real shit at giving advice, has anyone ever told you that?”</p><p>“No. I’m alone all the time, remember?”</p><p>Shanks laughed again, but this time, it sounded genuine. Still hollow, but not painful anymore. Maybe Mihawk could help Shanks, in a way other than setting him on the path to a life long tendency to turn to the sweet embrace of alcohol at the slightest sign of emotional distress he did not want to bear.</p><p>“I don’t know how useful my opinion on the subject is to you, as I never had a captain and have never gone through anything similar as you are doing right now. But, I knew Roger, and I know Rayleigh, and all the other members of your crew. I know <em>you</em>, Shanks, even if it’s less well than might be necessary to hand out advice on how to deal with what I’m guessing is the lowest point in your life so far. Right now, you are adrift, out on the open ocean with no wind in your sails to take you forward. You just have to wait for it to pick up again.”</p><p>Shanks looked at Mihawk with tired eyes. They were still red from crying, but it was harder to see in the bad light filling the room.</p><p>“Wow, that was even worse than what you said before,” he snorted and all the pain and anger was back, as if it had never left. “<em>Just give it time</em> has always been a stupid thing to say, no matter how fancy your way of saying it. God, I can’t believe you’re Rayleigh’s son.” Shanks took another gulp of his beer, a bigger one this time, and slammed his jug back on the table. It was empty. Maybe Mihawk had been too optimistic in regards to Shanks’s consumption of alcohol. No matter how light the beer, it had not even been half an hour, that mug had not been small and he was already calling to the barman to bring him another.  </p><p>“If Rayleigh could see me like this, he would knock some sense into me, tell me this is how life is and I’m disrespecting Roger’s legacy by crying here as if he’s the first person to be killed in front of my eyes. He would be honest, and straight forward. But he’s not here, and instead I’m stuck with you.”</p><p>Under other circumstances, Shanks’s words would likely have hurt more than they actually did. But Mihawk had seen the exact same execution, had seen the exact same man be murdered in cold blood, and he knew grief was not something that could be cast away like an ill fitting cloak because one did not like how it felt.</p><p>“So, what are you going to do if ‘giving it time’ is not the answer?”</p><p>“What is there to do? I will gather a crew, discover the ocean, find a way to become rich.” Shanks threw one look at Mihawk’s sword, which still leaned against the table. “And I’ll become stronger. One day, I’ll be stronger than you.”</p><p>“Ha, good luck with that. But it’s noble aspiration, I’ll give you.” If Mihawk, was being honest, Shanks likely wasn’t a bad swordsman. Spending so many years on the same ship as the Pirate King wasn’t possible without participating in his fair share of fights and he still looked fairly decent, without any obvious scars and all his limbs attached. Certainly Rayleigh’s and the other crewmember’s training had helped a great deal in keeping his body in this state.</p><p>“No, I promise you. One day, I’ll beat you, and then I’ll become even stronger and I’ll be just like the captain. Of course, I will have to beat Kaido and Linlin for that. You know the Captain teamed up with Monkey D. Garp to defeat them? It’s a great story! Okay-“</p><p>And Shanks told the story of how the ROCKS-Pirates were defeated and then one about another great accomplishment of Roger and his crew. His eye shone feverishly, lost in a past he had never experienced, and the more he spoke, the more he drank. Mihawk nipped on his wine and listened.</p><p>“YKnow wha? Should- You should join my crew,” Shanks said. He was long lost in a delirium of his fantasies but this last sentence, he said with overwhelming clarity. Mihawk caught his arm before he could lift the jug of beer to his lips again.</p><p>“Okay, enough. You’ve already had more than is good for you.”</p><p>For a few moments, they each struggled to tear the jug away from the other, when Shanks suddenly let go and Mihawk unceremoniously fell back into his chair. Shanks did the same, but at least he did it willingly.</p><p>“So you’ll join my crew, then?”</p><p>“What? No!”</p><p>“But you said okay!” Shanks sounded genuinely betrayed. Mihawk would have found it funny if he wasn’t so frustrated.</p><p>“I did not- Shanks, you’ve clearly had enough to drink. Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?”</p><p>“I feel fantastic, I can clearly drink much more you’re just stuck up. And yes, I have.” As if to prove his point, Shanks pulled a key from his shirt. It was hanging on a thin rope tied around his neck.</p><p>“Great. Because you, my young friend, need to sleep.”</p><p>“I’m not young. You’re just super old in everything you do.”</p><p>How could a 15-year old who was clearly going to puke his guts out when morning came still form such long, coherent sentences? But Shanks stood up, not resisting to Mihawk’s plan. The moment he stopped grabbing onto the table and the back of the chair for support, however, he stumbled and fell right onto Mihawk.</p><p>“So much about possibly drinking more. You cannot even stand, let alone walk. Come.”</p><p>With some struggle, Mihawk managed to pick up his sword without letting Shanks fall. Together and with one of Shanks’s arm slung over his shoulder,  they walked out of the bar, back into the daylight. It had stopped raining and the sun was setting, drowning the cold mindless stone of Loguetown in warm, brutal hues of orange and red, reminding the buildings of the blood they had been drowned in that day. At his side, feet dragging over the pavement, Shanks was mumbling something, but Mihawk could not understand what he was saying. He barely managed to get the address of the room he was staying at out of him. It likely took them four times as long as they should have needed to actually get there.</p><p>Without any mercy or softness, Mihawk let Shanks fall onto the bed.</p><p>“Heyheyhey, w’re you going?” Shanks mumbled, face pressed into the sheets.</p><p>“I’m leaving the island. If I go now, I can still make it over Reverse Mountain before it gets completely dark.”</p><p>“No, I…” whatever Shanks said next was lost between the softness of the bed and his lack of enunciation.</p><p>“Go to sleep. I expect you to be sober next time we meet.”</p><p>If Shanks answered, Mihawk did not hear it. The door had already fallen shut.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alternative titles for this chapter: “Roger is an absolute chad and Mihawk is not immune to his smile, or: how to discover you’re actually really shitty at comforting people”. Also there is a surprising amount of characters in One Piece walking around in flip flops as if it were the fashion statement of the century and I will use my writing skills to make fun of this. You have been warned.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fighting a red rag</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Time passes. Mihawk and Shanks meet again. Unfortunately, the only thing these meetings do is make Mihawk grow more frustrated.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome to chapter 3 and thank you for reading so far! This chapter ends in 1502, Mihawk is 21 and Shanks 17 years old. <br/>While writing this, I also once again noticed how much I love writing angry characters expressing their wrath 😊</p><p>I hope you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the execution, Mihawk kept an eye on Shanks. The Grand Line was steadily filling with more and more pirates, most of which dreamed of finding the One Piece. If Mihawk thought them worth his time, their sailing trip was cut short in very much the same way they lost the duel: quickly, with great pain and drowning in blood. Rarely, the swordsmen of the crew were impressive in their skill but when they were, Mihawk enjoyed the fight even more so, or as long as it lasted.</p><p>After one year, there had still not been any news from Shanks. Neither from the Grand Line, of which he was conspicuously missing, nor from the East Blue. It was as if he had dropped off the face of the Earth.</p><p>After one year, Mihawk decided to go looking for him. When he passed Reverse Mountain, Crocus did not have any news from the boy either. Ever since Roger’s execution, he had yet to return to the pirate’s graveyard. Mihawk promised to keep the doctor up to date if he happened to find his former cabin boy.</p><p>In the end, it was like a Déjà Vu. Shanks was sprawled out in a back alley, completely drunk, and barely able to stand. This time, he did not have a room booked in advance and Mihawk had no desire to take him on his small ship to sleep off his intoxication and vomit all over his belongings in the process, so he dragged him to the edge of a nearby forest, far away enough from the port town not to be disturbed, lit a fire, and decided to keep watch and get some sense into him by whatever means necessary come morning.</p><p>When he finally woke up, Shanks was less confused about laying on the bare ground than Mihawk had expected. This was unfortunate proof to how dire the situation seemed to be. Maybe it would be better if he did not tell Crocus about the development or rather lack thereof his former protégé and friend had undergone, promises be damned.</p><p>“Ah, Hawkeye! Good to see you again! How’s Rayleigh?”</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?”, Mihawk asked, without reacting to the question. He had just spent the entire night awake, guarding this idiot who did not know the own limits of his body and could have died as an unnamed, miserable moron by suffocating in his own sick and he wasn’t in the mood to play any games.</p><p>“What?” Shanks looked confused and pushed himself up onto his elbows; instantly, the blood drained from his face and he let himself fall back onto the ground. “Ugh. Nope. Shouldn’t have done that.” The next words were not in Grandish nor any of the dialects or languages Mihawk could understand, but from the intensity and frustration with which Shanks said them, he could only guess they were swears.</p><p>Mihawk did not have time nor patience for the Red Hair to recover from his hangover. Instead, he crouched down next to him and grabbed him by his shirt, lifting his head a few centimetres. Immediately, the nigh unbearable stench of stale alcohol his him with Shanks’s breath. He barely kept his hold instead of stepping back to avoid it.</p><p>“How stupid are you?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“How can you waste your life like this? Roger sacrificed himself to save the crew, to give you a legacy, and I find you living like a gutter rat. You’re the shame of any pirate.”</p><p>Shanks looked at him with wide eyes. He had gone completely slack in his grip, no muscle tension keeping him upright, as if all the fight had left him. As he looked down on him, Mihawk wondered what had made him so interesting when they had first met, what had made him consider fighting him one day. Now all he was saying was someone who had given up on life and didn’t know what to do with the time he had been given.</p><p>“You’re a disgrace,” he spat, and with more force than necessary, shoved Shanks back onto the ground. His clothes were already dirty enough, there wasn’t any more damage he could cause.</p><p>“If we meet again like this, don’t expect any manners from me,” Mihawk said over his shoulder, and walked back to his boat.</p><p> </p><p>When he passed Reverse Mountain to get back to the Grand Line, Mihawk told Crocus a tamed down version of his encounter with Shanks. The visit was quick and Mihawk took a nap right after to catch up on the sleep he’d missed while keeping watch. Hopefully, this was the last time he’d have had to deal with Shanks’s drunken antics.</p><p> </p><p>One year after his last visit, Mihawk found himself making the same trip from Paradise to the East Blue all over again. Just like the last time, he found Shanks on an unsuspicious island in a small port town. He asked a young woman, attractive and with a kind smile, where he could find the red-head. She blushed, whether from memory or from embarrassment that Mihawk had thought she might know about his whereabouts and been right in doing so and pointed him towards a small house at the end of the street. He knocked and waited. After several minutes, a young lad opened the door, with his undershirt hanging off his shoulders and his hair in a wild state of disarray. This definitely wasn’t Shanks. While Mihawk had no idea of who was standing in front of him, the man clearly recognized him. His face went pale and he shook like a leaf in the wind, his legs threatening to give out under him.</p><p>“I’m here to see Shanks. He has red hair and a straw hat. I believe you know him?”, Mihawk asked and within seconds, the man ran back into his house, screaming Shanks’s name. While he came down the stairs, he was still tying the sash around his waist and did not look pleased to have been interrupted. When he saw Mihawk, his face lit up and he dragged him into a crushing hug, as if the last time they had seen each other had been nothing but two friends on a night out that had gone wrong, a fun anecdote to tell in the future.</p><p>Shanks was steady on his legs and did not reek of alcohol; Mihawk counted himself lucky and did not resist when Shanks dragged him to a nearby inn and immediately ordered himself a beer. And so they found themselves sitting in a tavern, each with a drink in hand and their respective hat lying on the table.</p><p>“Why are you still here?”, Mihawk asked. Shanks laughed. It was a hearty laughter, full and deep, a far cry from the childish snickering at the beach breakfast. It was also a stark contrast to the gloom drunk Mihawk had left in the dust one year earlier. Nonetheless, if things had improved significantly since then, they were far from perfect. Grief is always hard thing to overcome, but Shanks was so different from the ambitious and annoying boy Mihawk had first met.  Now, he was only annoying.</p><p>“Where else should I go?”, Shanks asked in return, as if it were a satisfactory answer. Mihawk did not indulge him in this speculation, so Shanks drank another gulp of his beer. “I’m not yet ready to move on. There’s something waiting for me here, I can feel it.”</p><p>“I’ve never taken you for the romantic type.”</p><p>If he was being honest, Mihawk still could not see Shanks settling down, devoting his life to a single person, ready to spent his eternity with them.</p><p>“Dahaha, I’m not! Can you imagine <em>me</em>, giving up the sea and declaring my undying love for someone? No, Romance and Love are concepts invented for other people.”</p><p>“Then I do not understand what you mean. You love the sea. Why no go back to the Grand Line and make a name for yourself? It’s been two years and you’re still hovering around in this small ocean, without a crew no less. I doubt the Marines are even aware of your existence.”</p><p>“In comparison to you, you mean? The fearsome and mighty Hawkeye, cutting ships in half when he pleases!”</p><p>“Don’t change the subject.” Of course Shanks was right. Mihawk’s bounty was rapidly increasing, an inevitable consequence of the many duels he fought whenever he met someone worthy of his attention. The Marine’s were chasing him more and more often as well. But what Mihawk did in his free time had nothing to do with Shanks’s utter stagnation, so unlike someone who had travelled with the Pirate King, and which did not match the energy and desperation he had seen in their first brief encounters.</p><p>“What can I tell you, Mihawk? Somehow, I just know it is not my time to leave this Blue yet. Call it premonition, subconscious, hell, maybe even Haki, but I just know <em>someone</em> is waiting for me and I don’t intent on missing them when the time comes just because I’m chasing the next adventure. What crew am I even supposed to sail with? I don’t want to have a horde of men at my beck and call, following my orders because they fear me or want some of the glory that comes with sailing under my name.”</p><p>Mihawk could just stop himself from pointing out that even if Shanks managed to gather a crew, there would be no glory for his men from doing so, since he still very obviously lacked a bounty, let alone one commanding either fear or respect.</p><p>“I would end up throwing all of them overboard within a week. I want a crew like we used to be, friends to discover the world with, in the search of a common goal,” Shanks concluded, staring into his mug with a gloomy look on his face.</p><p>“Then why not set sail to search for them? You’re clearly strong enough on your own, you have little to fear for the most parts. I just don’t think you’ll find your comrades in the East Blue.”</p><p>“Why not? Buggy’s from the East. So’s the captain.”</p><p>“Monkey D. Garp as well,” Mihawk added, indulging Shanks in his small listing of noticeable people from this part of the world. All it earned him was a sneering grimace.</p><p>“Ugh, I take back everything I just said. The old man isn’t letting me have a single month in peace without somehow tracking me down. I don’t understand why he’s here, don’t they need him in the New World or something? Some place where he isn’t bothering me?”</p><p>Mihawk watched as Shanks sulked and drank his beer. Luckily, he had never met the vice-admiral and considering the stories the Roger Pirated had told and what everyone else was saying about the Marine, it was better that way. Not only was Garp a living legend, he also seemed to be the exact type of person to give Mihawk a headache by sheer vice of his presence.</p><p>“Apparently he has a son. Maybe that’s why he’s stuck here. Teenage rebellion and all that jazz, you know?”, Shanks continued.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I know, I can’t really believe it either. I mean can you imagine having <em>Garp</em> as your father? If the kid turns out as anything else than his mortal enemy by the time he’s an adult, there must the something seriously wrong with him.”</p><p>“Shanks?”, Mihawk asked, sensing a vicious opportunity.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Are you staying in the East-Blue because you Garp reminds you of Roger? Are you trying to find some sort of father figure in him?”</p><p>Mihawk knew it was a very low jab and one he normally considered himself above of, but if it was something, <em>anything</em>, to pull Shanks out of his lethargy, capable of breaking his mask of false happiness, then he was ready to stoop as low as the bottom of any valley.</p><p>Shanks seemed seriously surprised by this remark. Surprised and shocked.</p><p>“Mihawk, what the fuck, man?”</p><p>Several other guests in the bar turned around in reaction to Shanks loud emotional outburst. Mihawk did his best to ignore them.</p><p>“So far, it’s the only logical conclusion I can come to regarding your behaviour.”</p><p>“Goddamnit, Mihawk, isn’t a man allowed to just spend his life in peace? You spend your days sailing from island to island in your little boat as if you’re the only person in the world, why can’t I do the same?” Immediately, the jovial atmosphere had disappeared for something colder, harder, sharper.</p><p>“Because that’s not you.”</p><p>“What do you know about me?” Shanks lifted his glass to drink more beer, but there was nothing left. Frustrated and with full force, he slammed it back onto the table. The straw hat nearly slipped to the floor. Mihawk barely managed to catch it before it touched the ground.</p><p>Carefully, he put it back next to his own.</p><p>Shanks was already waving to the bartender for another drink when Mihawk pinned down his wrist and forced him to look him in the eyes.</p><p>“I know you used to have ambition, Shanks. One of the first things you ever said to me was that we should fight and that you would terrorize the seas. That ambition is gone.”</p><p>“I was twelve, Mihawk. How often have we seen each other since then, huh? Three, four times at best? One of which was the lowest days of my life? How fucking arrogant are you to believe your assessment of a child is in any way relevant now that I’m an adult?”</p><p>Mihawk bit back that Shanks was barely 17 and still a long way from being anything close to an adult. Because now Shanks was <em>angry</em>, and it was the closest thing Mihawk could have to see him being <em>alive</em>. Maybe he could drive him a little bit further, push him a little bit closer to the pain of passion.</p><p>“I know Rayleigh and Roger would never have tolerated anyone as weak-willed as you are right now on their crew.”</p><p>The push had been too strong. Mihawk fell over backwards from the impact of Shanks’s punch straight to his face, still holding the heavy glass mug, now smeared with blood.</p><p>He could taste the unfamiliar flavour of wet iron in his mouth. Luckily, all his teeth seemed intact. All the attention in the bar was now definitely on them.</p><p>“Hey, no fights in my bar. Go sort out your business outside!”, the bartender shouted.</p><p>However, Shanks did not look ready to move. Thin as a stick, he seemed like a bamboo plant ready to take on a storm. With a quick look to the bartender, Mihawk put on his hat, grabbed his sword, the straw hat, and Shanks and dragged him outside. Shanks tried to free himself, to get a good hit at Mihawk, but he did not stop until they had left the small town. Only then, surrounded by trees, rocks and a lack of civilization, did he let go.</p><p>“Take that back!”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You have no right to speak of them like this!”, Shanks screamed again</p><p>“You say that and yet you’re cowering in the mud like a child, incapable of defending your words. Look at you! Everyone else made something with their life after the execution and you’ve given up on all your dreams! You’ve given up everything Roger has ever done for you!”</p><p>Mihawk had no idea what the other cabin boy, the one with the blue hair was doing in this moment or whether he was still alive for that matter, so what he had said was only partially true, but Shanks likely did not know that. Instead, he jumped up, pulled a knife from the Depths knows where and lunged forward. Mihawk stepped aside to dodge the attack.</p><p>So that’s how it was going to be.</p><p>Without hesitation, Mihawk unsheathed the knife from his pendant and fell into a defensive stance. If Shanks needed to work off some steam, he was ready to take him on.</p><p>Withing seconds, Mihawk had fallen into a steady rhythm of parrying, dodging, and playing Shanks like a fiddle.  It was a fun fight, far better than most duels Mihawk had suffered on his way through the East Blue, but still no true match. Shanks was irrational, lacked the necessary clarity of thought and concentration and his Haki was like a general low humming in the distance, instead of a clean arrow supporting his sword arm and attacks in each strike it was supposed to be.  </p><p>After 10 minutes, Mihawk was bored and Shanks looked exhausted. With a simple kick, he brought him to the floor. When Shanks didn’t get up again, he cleaned his small blade on his shirt — he would have to sharpen it soon — and sat down on the next tree stump.</p><p>“Well, that was disappointing. Rayleigh’s stories made you sound like a better fighter.”</p><p>Shanks didn’t reply. He simply continued to lie on the ground, the straw hat lying a few meters beside him. It had fallen off during the fight. Mihawk picked it up and let it fall on Shanks chest.</p><p>“Next time you want to fight me, I recommend you do so with an actual sword.”</p><p>Then, he left the island. Whether Shanks managed to escape the claws of grief and get out the hole he had fallen into was now out of his hands. But comparing him to the boy Mihawk had left behind one year ago and the man he had fought today, there was still hope.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>When I started this chapter, it was supposed to span ten years, up to Shanks being 25 and Mihawk 29. Instead, everything got VERY long and I decided to split this original time frame up into a total of three chapters. So you’ll get more updates on this fic and with better pacing while I get to breathe a bit and am happier with what I actually write, which I think is a win for all!</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it! </p><p>As every author will tell you, comments are an even quicker way to our heart than any knife, so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you liked, found funny, whatever you want!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The thread of friendship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A lot of things happen in Mihawk’s life. Sailing out to hunt down Shanks somewhere in the East Blue is supposed to be a peaceful return to routine, but of course the idiot can be trusted not to keep anything regular; and to cause Mihawk problems where he didn’t need any.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content warnings for needles/syringes and injections. <br/>Can you believe everything that happens in this and the next two chapters (at least) were originally supposed to be the entirety of Chapter 3? Yeah, I decided the cuts would be too awkward so splitting it up seemed the much cleaner solution for me. Also more updates quicker, if that’s something you like. However, Uni has started again so that will probably counterweight all of this since I get to write less often or less in one sitting. Thank you for your patience!</p><p>I hope you enjoy reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In hindsight, telling Shanks to get himself an actual sword might have been the final event dooming the world to what Shanks later would become. But for Mihawk, it first and foremost was the origin of great fun — and the beginning of an opponent he could not help but look forward to fight again.</p><p>When Mihawk returned to the Grand-Line, he had been practically hunted down by Marine ships quickly. He had wanted to confront them, get his blood boiling in the heat of battle; it turned into an icy disappointment when the commanding officer refused to engage him. Instead, she told him the World Government wanted to propose him a position as one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea.</p><p>Mihawk would have been lying if he hadn’t been surprised at the announcement.</p><p>More than a year had passed since his voyage to Mary Geoise to accept the position, and he was beginning to grow bored. The terms of his arrangement with the five elders were quite simple: his bounty would be annulled as long as he gave them a share of his loot. All in all, it had sounded like a very unbalanced deal in his favour, as Mihawk had never considered himself a pirate in the first place and getting some peace and quiet from the Marines would be an inestimable gift. Not <em>this</em> much peace and quiet, though.</p><p>And so Mihawk decided to give an old acquaintance another visit. No matter what Shanks was doing right now, dealing with him would be a welcome distraction from the eternal ennui which begun to plague Mihawk’s days.</p><p>Just like the previous years, he avoided Loguetown. Mostly out of laziness — after all it was unlikely that Shanks would go back to the island so soon and he could always drop in on his way back to the Grand-Line — but also due to the Marines habitually stationed there. They tended to be stronger than was the norm for the Blues, the last bastion before the Grand-Line, and therefore indefinitely more annoying. Whereas normal officers had learned a long time ago that Mihawk was no one to be messed with and that wasting his time was something they would soon regret, the ones in Loguetown thought they could be the ones to finally take him down. It had always been a tedious affair to deal with them and now that Mihawk was officially allied with the World Government, he could not imagine the situation had improved in any way.</p><p>In the end, Mihawk did not find Shanks.</p><p>Shanks found him.</p><p> </p><p>Mihawk made halt on a small island for the night. There was no discernible village or infrastructure on it, so he dragged his boat onto the beach, made a fire, cooked himself dinner and went to sleep on his boat. The scars on his chest were still relatively fresh and the Doctors on Drum had advised him to sleep on his back as much as possible; even though Mihawk did his best to follow their advice and the healing process itself went along nicely, it was absolute horror how long it took him to fall asleep each night.</p><p>The next morning, the sun rose early and Mihawk woke as soon as the first inch of light hit his face. There was no hurry is searching for Shanks. He could allow himself to enjoy the warm rays a little bit longer. Who knew when he could do so again?</p><p>As Mihawk dozed along, someone stepped onto the boat. They were light, silent and had Mihawk been less accustomed to the sea and its gentle rocking, he might not have noticed them. But he wasn’t, and the slight change in cadence and the dipping to starboard before whoever had trespassed onto his boat caught themselves, immediately alerted him to the presence of the intruder. Keeping his eyes closed and feigning to sleep, he waited until they came closer, their Haki growing stronger with each step. Soon, he could hear the faint rustle of their clothes. At the last second, Mihawk moved.</p><p>He caught Shanks’s wrist mere moments before the coal stick touched his face.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“Mihawk! You’re awake!” Shanks did not try to move his hand away, as if drawing on other people’s faces with coal was something completely normal. Irritated, Mihawk pushed his hand away and stood up, rubbing the sleeping dust out of his eyes.</p><p>“Don’t draw on my face or I will break every bone in your body,” he said and began ruffling around in his travel bag for his small calendar. Keeping track of time was essential at sea.</p><p>“Oh come on! Don’t be such a killjoy! A moustache would look good on you! You know, like Kaido! Or the captain! A really manly moustache, curled at the end. Magnificent!”</p><p>For one short moment, Mihawk wondered if he should skewer Shanks on his sword right then and there, when his eyes fell on the blade stripped to his right hip. It looked real, sturdy, and well taken care off. All in all, Shanks appeared far more put coherent than the last three times they had seen each other.</p><p>“Shanks, are you sober?”</p><p>“Of course! How can you even ask that?” Shanks sounded hurt, but with him, Mihawk was unsure if it was genuine indignation or simply an act.</p><p>“Oh, no reason,” he said courtly, making no mentions of his previous two visits or Shanks’s state of inebriation and rather concentrated on the leather etui laid out in front of him. It had been a week since his last injection and it was time for the next. If only Shanks wasn’t there.</p><p>“Hey, do you want me to help you with that?”</p><p>Speaking of the devil. Suddenly, Shanks was far too close. Someone had to teach the boy the concept of personal space one day. Mihawk would do it himself if he had to and would greatly enjoy making him bite dust in the process.</p><p>“In all the years we’ve known each other, Shanks, what the fuck did you give the idea that I would ever trust you with a needle?”, he asked, more playful than with actual bite, while he tucked his shirt beneath his bandages to get his hands free and doused a clean handkerchief in alcohol.</p><p>“Hey, I just wanna help! That’s not a crime, as far as I know.”</p><p>“That would have been the first time that the qualification as a crime would have stopped you from doing something,” murmured Mihawk to himself and concentrated on drawing the testosterone into the clean glass syringe. The process was the same every time. Change out the needle, check the angle to set it at before actually inserting it into his skin and then slowly but steadily pushing down the plunger until it had reached the very end of the hollow chamber. When Mihawk looked up again, Shanks was staring at his stomach as he was removing the needle. He looked slightly green around the nose.</p><p>“After all the murder and slaughter you’ve seen in your life, <em>this</em> is was makes you squirm?”, Mihawk asked mockingly, already busying himself with tidying up.</p><p>“It’s different when you do it to yourself!”</p><p>“It takes less than a minute. It’s nothing more than a needle!”</p><p>“That’s easy for you to say, you’re not the one who has to look at it. Anyway, enough with that, I want to fight!”</p><p>Shanks’s hand was already gripping his sword handle. His entire body was tense with anticipation, his eyes darting to see every movement Mihawk made and react accordingly.</p><p>“No,” said Mihawk.</p><p>Instantly, all energy and tension left Shanks’s body, leaving him standing in the wind like unbaked dough.</p><p>“What? What do you mean <em>no</em>?”</p><p>“I’m still healing. I don’t want to fight you. So: no.”</p><p>Furthermore, Shanks was not the same type of opponent as the low lackeys of the East Blue. If they got into the heat of the moment, there was serious potential for Mihawk to injure himself or his still healing operation wounds, which would make the rest of his voyage very difficult. Not that he would ever admit this to Shanks. The boy was better off thinking he wasn’t someone worth taking seriously for at least a few more years.</p><p>“That’s not a reason! You can’t just say no! Get up and face me like a man, you-“</p><p>Exasperated, Mihawk pushed Shanks over the reeling into the water. The splash his body made as it hit the surface and sunk was the most satisfying sound Mihawk had heard that morning; the sound when Shanks swam up to the surface and coughed out the water he had swallowed definitely less so.</p><p>“Go catch us some fish for breakfast instead of saying the first thing that comes into your mind out loud,” he said before Shanks could get a single word out and threw a small net into the water. The least he could get out of this was some decent breakfast without having to put any work into it.</p><p>By the time Shanks stepped out of the water with several fish swinging in the net in his hand, Mihawk had gotten the fire started, made a pot of coffee and prepared his other traveling provisions. Sitting next to each other in the sand, the two of them ate their first meal of the day. They likely were the two only human beings on the entire island, like some time-twisted mirror image from the first time Mihawk had eaten breakfast with Shanks. It had only been 3 years since Roger’s execution, but so many things had changed already.</p><p>A new Era had begun. Mihawk was determined to play a part in it; looking at Shanks, who overall appeared quite healthy and finally had a decent sword, he was not the only one.</p><p>“What are you doing here?” Mihawk asked, when they had finished eating.</p><p>“I came looking for you!”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“It’s been a year and I thought it was my time to welcome you instead of waiting for you to find me!”</p><p>“How did you know I would show up?”</p><p>“I would have been disappointed if you didn’t. Breaking a long tradition like this one isn’t your style!”</p><p>“It’s not a tradition.”</p><p>Loud, billowing, full laughter was the only answer Mihawk got. For one short, sweet moment, he allowed himself to bask in the sound. It had been a long time since anyone had been this at ease around him and for this person to be Shanks was an unexpected glimmer of hope. Like a look into the past.</p><p>“What would you call it then?” Shanks leaned back on his elbows and was lying in the sand. The tips of his hair were still damp and slightly clinging to his skin, but his shirt was already dry after his round of swimming.</p><p>Mihawk starred into the horizon as he pondered his answer. He could not allow Shanks to get any wrong ideas, he would be impossible to get rid of otherwise.</p><p>“Babysitting duty,” he said.</p><p>The sand in his face way dry and coarse and the worst thing anyone had ever done to him. Sputtering, face growing red in indignation, Mihawk tried to blink without getting even more sand into his eyes.</p><p>“What the fuck!?”, he shouted, but before he could close his mouth and finish his sentence, Shanks had already jumped to his feet and grabbed his shirt at the collar and button placket, pulling with all his force, his flip-flops struggling to get hold in the ever shifting sand. Apparently throwing a fistful of sand at his face wasn’t enough, he also wanted to dunk Mihawk into the ground. But not with him, oh no. Mihawk would not lose to this red haired idiot in some childish game of tug-of-war. He let himself become as heavy as possible and dug his hands into Shanks’s left wrist and his own shirt, trying to loosen the grip on his clothes. Shanks was strong, much stronger than his noodle arms and lanky physique made it appear. Mihawk pulled with more force, but Shanks didn’t let go. He did, however, grunt in pain when Mihawk kicked his knee into his sides. They struggled, neither of them letting go. Mihawk could feel the sand crawling its way under his clothes, into his trousers and boots. It would be an absolute nightmare getting all of it out.</p><p>Suddenly, the pressure on his grip eased. It eased the exact same moment a strident screech filled his ears, the sound of tightly woven linen ripping apart.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!</em>”</p><p>But Shanks was already running away, several meters ahead.</p><p>When Mihawk inevitably got his hands on that bastard, he would regret having stirred his ire. This was his last clean shirt. It had taken him ages to sew it and this little brat had ruined all his hard work.</p><p>“As if you could ever catch me, old man!”, he shouted back.</p><p>Oh yes, Shanks would regret the day he was born.</p><p> </p><p>Mihawk pushed himself to run faster, drive his feed deeper into the sand, to get more friction and more hold. He would get his hands on this grimy little bastard who dared to laugh as he was running away.</p><p>But Shanks was running too fast.</p><p>One strong gush of wind grabbed at Mihawk’s clothes and a few meters in front of him, did the same for Shanks. A loud cry erupted when the straw hat was ripped from his head and surfed on the air currents. Shanks stopped abruptly, swinging his arms through the air to keep his balance and reached back to catch the hat.</p><p>Mihawk threw all his weight forward.</p><p>The tackle took them both off balance, and with his arms wrapped around Shanks’s torso, Mihawk dragged him to the ground. His face hurt as it crashed into Shanks’s ribcage, the bones hard under his skin.</p><p>“Got you,” he said, out of breath, and pressed himself up with his arm to get a good look at the merciless thief lying under him in the sand.</p><p>“Got it,” Shanks said, his shit-eating grin was back on his face. Then, Mihawk could feel a light pressure on the back of his head. A shadow fell into his face of vision as the sun was blocked out.</p><p>“It looks good on you.” Shanks let his hand fall back from Mihawk’s head and didn’t make the slightest effort to get up. Considering his current predicament, it would have been difficult anyway. Mihawk slowly got to his feet, patting away the sand caught in his clothes due to the fall. Then, he held out his hand to pull Shanks up. In one smooth motion, Mihawk lifted him into the air and dropped him on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.</p><p>“You think I’ll let you get away for free because of  a few compliments? How vain do you think I am?”</p><p>“Very,” Shanks mumbled into Mihawk’s shirt. His head fell to his chest. There was no way he would make the mistake of giving Shanks a clear opening to his back. No, Shanks had already tried to escape his punishment once, there would be no second time.</p><p>Mihawk carried him back to the fire, where their provisions and belongings remained untouched. Without warning, he let his cargo fell to the ground.</p><p>“OW! Hey, a warning next time would be nice.”</p><p>“Don’t be an idiot if you don’t know how to lose.”</p><p>Mihawk took off the straw hat Shanks had put on him and pulled off his shirt. Together with his sewing kit, he tossed it to Shanks, who barely managed to catch the two items.</p><p>“You damaged it, it’s your job to fix it.”</p><p>“Oh come on! How was I supposed to know it would break!”</p><p>“That’s not my problem.”</p><p>“It’s your shirt.”</p><p>“I’m not the one who’ll get my ass kicked if you don’t patch my shirt.”</p><p>“You’re awfully confident about that.”</p><p>“There’s no mistake in being confident as long as I’m right.”</p><p>There was a blowing sound. Mihawk strongly suspected Shanks had just stuck his tongue out at him for lack of any better retaliation, but he did not turn around to check. Instead, he sat down in the sand, put the straw hat on again and pulled it down to cover his eyes. He then leaned back to take a nap, or at least drowse along while he still could. The blissful quiet would no doubt be over as soon as Shanks had finished mending the shirt. Although that was a terribly optimistic estimate.</p><p>Annoyed, he slapped Shanks’s hand away.</p><p>“You won’t get the hat back until I can wear my shirt again.”</p><p>Grumbling, Shanks retreated and a few seconds later, Mihawk could hear the familiar rustling of fabric. Good, now he would finally have a bit of peace and quiet.</p><p> </p><p>It was too peaceful and quiet.</p><p> </p><p>After a few minutes, Mihawk could no longer resist the worry growing in him as Shanks wasn’t making any sounds and lifted the edge of the straw hat to catch a glance. He was sitting maybe two meters away, on the other side of the camp fire, and starring at the shirt in his hands. Whatever it was he was doing, it was definitely not repairing Mihawk’s shirt.</p><p>Fuck. It seemed Mihawk had vastly overestimated Shanks’s skillset.</p><p>“Please tell me you know how to mend clothes.”</p><p>Shanks looked up.</p><p>“Do you?”</p><p>“Of course I know how to take care of my belongings! Why don’t you? Didn’t Rayleigh or anyone else on the crew teach you?”</p><p>“Rayleigh knows how to sew?”</p><p>“What? Of course he- You know what? Just give me that.”</p><p>Sighing, Mihawk stood up  and walked over to Shanks, who was readily holding out both the shirt and the already threaded needle. Well, at least he could do that. Thank the Sea not all hope was lost.</p><p>“Okay, look real close. For a rip like this, the simplest way is to use a ladder stitch…”</p><p>Shanks was a silent and attentive student. When the shirt was finally wearable again — Shanks still owed Mihawk for damaging it in the first place — he even got the straw hat back. It was useful for keeping the sun away, but did not mix well with the rest of Mihawk’s clothes. There was no need to keep it.</p><p>“You know, they call you <em>the strongest Swordsman in the world</em>,” Shanks said, picking his teeth with a fish bone. Mihawk scoffed.</p><p>“Who says that?”</p><p>“People, you know. They say you’ve never lost a fight.”</p><p>“I haven’t.”</p><p>“So they’re right then?”</p><p>“I hope not.”</p><p>“Oh come on, now you’re just playing me with your humble act. Even you must be proud of being the best and admired by everyone else. I’ve even heard a few Marines talk about it. They were shaking in their boots”</p><p>“If my current level is all the world has to offer, then I have nothing but boredom to look forward to. It’s been too long since I’ve had a truly interesting fight.”</p><p>“I could-“</p><p>“The answer is still no, Shanks. Next time.”</p><p>This seemed to satisfy Shanks.</p><p>“Hey, Mihawk?”, he asked a little bit later.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Let’s meet on Sabaody next year. And get ready to get your ass kicked!”</p><p>Curious, Mihawk cocked an eyebrow. Shanks was finally returning to the Grand-Line? It seemed he truly had found stable footing again. But now was not the time to question his resolutions again.</p><p>“You seem awfully confident about that.”</p><p>“There’s no mistake in being confident as long as I’m right!” Shanks echoed Mihawk’s earlier statement, with a massive grin.</p><p>“I’ll be taking you up on that! Don’t you dare disappoint me.” Smiling, Mihawk looked up into the everlasting blue sky.</p><p>If Shanks was truly coming to the archipelago, Rayleigh wouldn’t know what hit him. Mihawk couldn’t wait to enjoy the spectacle.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was a lot of fun to write! Look at Mihawk being soft and actually getting himself a friend! Who would have thought such a thing could be possible?<br/>As for Mihawk becoming a Warlord at the beginning of the Chapter, I have made some notes which I maybe? Possibly? Could turn into a one-shot to a later date but for this fic, I decided it wasn’t particularly relevant to the overall arch of Mihawk and Shanks relationship so it didn’t get more than a few sentences/paragraphs.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Duel that Stories are made of</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It’s nice to see family again. Mihawk discovers what a terrifying opponent Shanks can be when he sets his mind to it.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Again, this was originally not supposed to be its own chapter. But the story just wouldn’t flow right if I cut this much of clearly important relationships out or condensed them to nothing more than a few paragraphs. Also, writing about Mihawk, Shanks &amp; Rayleigh (+ Shakky this time) is just too much fun!</p><p>As for Mihawk’s opinion on Shanks and how it evolves throughout this chapter let me just tell you that I’m a hopeless aromantic aka I have no idea what romantic attraction feels like and I do not care to find out. The downside to this is that I have no idea if the way I’m writing all of this makes any sense or carries the point across? I hope so? Let me know if you feel like I’ve completely missed the mark bc I might need to adjust some major things, otherwise the emotional impact of later events will completely fall into the water with nothing as much as a splash lmao.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been several years since Mihawk had stepped foot onto the Sabaody Archipelago, but overall, nothing had changed. It was still bright, soapy and loud. He had anchored his boat at the private Marine Port on the southern end of the mangroves — government resources <em>did</em> have their perks — and followed the shortest way towards Mangrove 13. There, where he had expected to find his mother’s small house, was now a bar. It was the same building, that much was clear, but it had a shiny, brand new looking front sign.</p><p>
  <em>Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar.</em>
</p><p>This looked like his mother’s work all right. Hopefully, Mihawk would not regret coming back.</p><p>When he walked through the door, he barely had the time to step aside to escape a man being thrown outside. His nose was bleeding and the way his hair stuck flatly on the right side suggested he had an additional head wound.</p><p>“Don’t go in there, boy! She’ll rip you off or won’t let you leave in one piece! Absolute madwoman!”, he screamed at Mihawk. Then he took to his heels and hightailed away. Mihawk watched him on his downfall. It would always remain a surprise how some people would find a way to blame someone else if the situation did not turn out in their favour. no matter how much they got warned about the consequences of their actions.</p><p>“Mihawk, honey, you’re back! I did not except to see you this soon!”</p><p>Within two steps, Shakky stood in front of him and wrapped him inside a hug there was no escape from. Mihawk did not try to resist.</p><p>“Rayleigh is out right now, but he should be back soon. Maybe he can show you how to shave correctly. You did a horrible job.”</p><p>She pinched him in the cheek, where Mihawk had indeed begun to grow some stubble, which was beginning to look quite unkept. Shakky disappeared behind the bar and held up a full bottle of red wine in the left and a half empty botte of rum in the right hand.</p><p>“Something to drink to celebrate your return?”</p><p>Mihawk made a declining hand motion and sat down on one of the many stools.</p><p>“Not yet.”</p><p>“Yet? Since when have you begun respecting civilian drinking hours?”</p><p>“I’m here to meet up with Shanks. I can’t allow myself to have a head start when he arrives.” Since discovering his mother’s new home and profession, Mihawk was beginning to wonder if Shanks didn’t already know about this him and had chosen the archipelago as their rendezvous-point with the main goal of getting drunk. It would be something that idiot would do.</p><p>“Red hair? Is he the reason why you waltz in here with that new sword of yours? Do you want to impress him?” She nodded to Yoru, leaning against the bar. It did look quite impressive on its own, that much was true.</p><p>“No, just something I picked up on my travels.” The story of what a pain in the ass it had been to get his hands on it was one he would maybe tell her another time.</p><p>“Hm, it’s a good sword. But I cannot wait to see Red Hair! I was wondering how fast it would take him to get here on his own. You know, with all his prior knowledge of the Grand Line. Rayleigh was so happy when he saw his first bounty!</p><p>With momentum and great rustling, Shakky put a glass of dark red liquid and a sheet of paper in front of Mihawk. He was well acquainted with the size, font and colours the Marines used for their bounty posters, but this one was new. And it was indeed Shanks. The marine photographer had taken him in profile on his left side, grinning from ear to ear and with a wild look in his eye, staring straight ahead at whatever he had set his mind on. Three straight, parallel, still healing scars marked his face from his forehead across his brow and eye, all the way down to his cheekbones.</p><p>Who had Shanks fought to find himself in such a state?</p><p>“He certainly isn’t taking things slowly. I didn’t know he had already assembled a crew.”</p><p>“For all his faults, Morgans is a well of information if I’ve ever seen one. Well, at least to whomever knows how to read between his lines. Information is-“</p><p>“-a weapon, yes, I know. Don’t you ever get tired of saying that?”</p><p> “Not until you understand what I mean.” Shakky smiled and poured herself another cup of tea.</p><p>Mihawk traced Shanks’s scars with his fingertips. They looked deep and were still a deep red, not fully healed; a process which certainly wasn’t helped by the idiot’s inability to sit still and keep quiet. Shanks surely had more muscles in his face than the average human being, there was no way how Mihawk could otherwise explain all those grimaces he made.</p><p>Maybe he should heed Shakky’s advice and pay more attention to the newspaper. Maybe the thoughts and observations of that awful bird Morgan was actually worth paying a few berries for. If they allowed him to keep one step ahead of Shanks, it definitely was a good price.</p><p>The door to the bar jumped open with a loud bang.</p><p>“Shakky! I’m home! And guess who I found on my way back!”</p><p>Rayleigh had barely changed in the few years since Mihawk had last seen him. His hair had grown slightly longer, now falling to his shoulders. The roots at his temples were beginning to turn slightly grey.</p><p>Standing next to him, wearing very similar and equally egregious flip-flops, was Shanks. And he was not alone. Several more people, four or five at a first glance, filled into the bar behind them.</p><p>“Rayleigh! And Red with all his companionship! I finally get to meet you in person!” Shakky stepped out from behind the bar and wrapped Rayleigh into a brief hug, partnered with an even short kiss on the cheek. Then she turned to fully face Shanks.</p><p>“Well, you are taller than I imagined. You always look so short in the newspaper.”</p><p>Shanks looked slightly scared and taken aback. He threw Mihawk a furtive glance before looking at Shakky and Rayleigh again. His back was completely straight, as if needles were threatening to puncture his spine if he let even a single muscle relax.</p><p>“Good day, Ms. Shakuyaku. My name is Shanks, very nice to meet you”</p><p>Without bending his back, neck straight and with his arms and hands kept straight at his sides, Shanks bowed and kept his eyes fixed on the floor.</p><p>Mihawk barely managed to stop himself before taking a sip and chocking from the absurd image. If he had known Shanks would immediately shut up upon seeing her, he would have taken him to meet his mother a long time ago.</p><p>“Shakky is just fine! Don’t worry, Rayleigh and Mihawk’s friends can relax here! Especially those as good looking as you!”</p><p>She laughed and Mihawk rolled with his eyes. Sometimes his mother was too comfortable around people she had never met. If this was due to her knowledge about seemingly everything and everyone making her closer to strangers or her confidence in her own strength and thus resulting lack of strangers, Mihawk did not know. But it was annoying and embarrassing, that much he was sure off.</p><p>Shanks instantly relaxed, but not completely. Instead, he starred daggers at Rayleigh, who chuckled.</p><p>“Benn Beckman, Ma’am. First mate. Nice to meet you.” A man with long black hair in a ponytail stepped forward and shook Shakky’s hand. One after the other, the crewmembers introduced themselves. Shanks threw himself across the stool next to Mihawk and plucked the glass out of his hands.</p><p>“You could have warned me your mother is nothing like you. Now the question where you learned to be such a spoilsport remains even more mysterious.”</p><p>Shanks took a big gulp of the dark red liquid. Shanks barely managed to catch himself before spitting it out across the entire room and likely Mihawk as well.</p><p>“Mihawk! What the fuck is this?” Exasperated, he looked to from the glass to his friend and back again. Mihawk plucked the glass right back and took a tentative sip, trying to guess what Shakky had served him this time.</p><p>“Black currant juice, I believe. Thank you,” he added in Shakky’s direction who was walking back behind the bar and began drafting beer into cooled glasses. Rayleigh was directly on her heels and began helping her.</p><p>“You’re welcome. It always was your favourite as a child.”</p><p>“Ooooh, what was Mihawk like as a child?”</p><p>Seeing the glint in Shanks’s eyes and the curious turns of his crewmates, Mihawk drained his juice in one go and suddenly wished he had accepted Shakkys proposal for alcohol. But how was he supposed to know he had this little time before the red menace arrived?</p><p> This was going to be a long day.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>It was already late into the night when Mihawk returned to Shakky’s bar. The Red Hair pirates had returned to their ship, which according to the first mate, Benn Beckman, was anchored on the north-eastern side of the archipelago. After the meet up at the bar, Shanks had decided he could not spend his first day here without visiting the newly build amusement park on groove 32. It had only opened two years ago and was already one of the must-sees of Sabaody, Shakky told them, and the owner was currently trying to buy another groove next to it for expansion.</p><p>It was a short walk from Groove 13 to the entertainment district and yet their group was attacked three times before the situation calmed down and civilians began to replace the outlaws. Out of the corners of his eyes, Mihawk kept an eye on Shanks, following him as he glided through the ranks of their assailants, mowing them down with unmatched precision when needed. Most of the time, however, his crewmates protected their captain before anyone got even close enough to make him feel the wind of their blades.</p><p>It was magnificent to witness the trust between all of them; a masterpiece made of a few colours, each movement by each fighter a brushstroke upon the canvas of short history they carried with them.</p><p>Mihawk trembled with excitement at the thought of painting his own dichromatic <em>chef d’oeuvre</em> when he finally crossed blades with Shanks.</p><p> </p><p>“So, when are we fighting?” Shanks asked, left hand wrapped around a mug of beer he had swiped at one of the many booths scattered around and certainly with no intention of ever returning it, his right arm slung around Mihawk’s shoulder.</p><p>“Whenever you’re sober.”</p><p>Shanks’s grip was tightening in a regular rhythm, whenever his gaze was taken by something outside of the straight line they were trying to walk and he began to swerve to the side. He had begun drinking back at the rip-off Bar and not taken a break since; his movements betrayed this. Mihawk had given in to the temptation of a good red wine when they had arrived at the amusement park, and though he had in no way drunk as much as anyone from the Red Hair crew and was in no danger to lose a fight, the alcohol did not pass unnoticed and he rather preferred to fight his first interesting duel in a long time with a clear head. </p><p>“Tsch, I could kick your ass right now. No need to wait! Or are you scared?” Shanks retaliated, swinging his mug wildly through the air. Thankfully, it was half-empty already, or the beverage inside would have spilled over everyone in a several meter radius.</p><p>“Where is the fun in fighting drunk?”</p><p>“Where is the fun in <em>not</em> being drunk?”</p><p>“Well, if it’s like that, whoever wins tomorrow has to pay for the entire evening.”</p><p>Shanks laughed.</p><p>“Prepare yourself and your purse to bleed, then! When and where?”</p><p>“Come to the bar tomorrow. I’m sure Rayleigh knows a nearby island where we’re not at risk of killing anyone.” Most importantly, he likely had an eternal pose stashed away somewhere for them to use. The log pose certainly was an ingenious invention to travel through the wild and unpredictable waters of the Grand Line, but sometimes Mihawk missed the certainty of sailing with a compass according to known coordinates.</p><p>“So we’re going all out then?”</p><p>“We would both be disappointed if we didn’t.” Mihawk’s sardonic smile was answered by a sun-blinding grin by Shanks.</p><p>Still arm in arm, the two friends caught up to the rest of the crew, who had all assembled around a small shooting range with various trinkets, most of them small plush animals, hanging on the walls as prizes. A sign in the middle informed that 10 shots cost 500 bellies and various long range weapons were displayed on the wooden countertop separating the players from the booth owner. Benn Beckman had taken a rifle to his cheek and was shooting at the small clay stars under both loud en- and discouragement of his crewmates.</p><p>“Benn, I want that Banana Gator!” Shanks shouted and pointed in the direction of a hideous yellow plus animal which, with a lot of imagination, could indeed resemble a Banana Gator. Beckman put another 500 Belly coin on the counter, waited until the owner had refilled the rifle with the smaller bullets used on fairs and amusement parks and confidently took aim once more, his slightly red cheeks flush against the polished wood of the gun.</p><p> </p><p>Benn Beckman put down the rifle, all 10 shots done. Five stars had split into a thousand pieces. It seemed the alcohol had not passed through his system without consequence either.</p><p> </p><p> Mihawk eyed the selection of weapons when his eyes landed on a bow. It was rudimentary, still worse than the ones he had used on Amazon Lily for training when he was younger, but it would make do. He didn’t need a long range nor strong potency to shoot down the stars. He handed Shanks his wineglass and pulled a 1000 Belly-Bill from his pocket.</p><p>“I will use the bow,” he informed the owner, ignoring Shanks’s wolf-whistle behind him. Without a word but a court nod, the vendor handed him 20 arrows. </p><p>“Thank you.” Mihawk took off his hat, leaned Yoru against the booth and did an unloaded try out. Just like he had expected, the bow had next to no strength and there wasn’t any serious danger if someone less skilled than him missed a shot.</p><p>Breathing steadily, Mihawk nocked the first arrow and anchored it at his chin. Like a tunnel closing in on him, his vision focused on the very top right star. His heartbeat resonated steadily in his ears. Shanks’s unnecessary commentary was blended out.</p><p>Mihawk released the arrow.</p><p>Clay pieces flew into the air and quietly rattled onto the ground. One star was missing in the middle section of the target. Shanks and the rest of the crew cheered.</p><p>Fuck. Mihawk had missed. Whether because the bow and arrow had a slight downward left drag, or because it had been years since he had last properly trained in archery on Amazon Lily, and with a vastly superior bow at that, or because the wine in his system did not leave him as unaffected as Mihawk had previously thought, his goal of cleanly taking out the first four rows of five stars each had fallen into the water.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Mihawk nocked the second arrow.</p><p>2 minutes later, 19 more clay stars were missing from the nail board that served as target.</p><p>“Damn, Mihawk, you’re killing it!” It was like taking a bullet to the back when Shanks crashed into him in what seemed to be some sort of celebratory dance.</p><p>Mihawk took his wineglass back and pointed at the hideous Banana gator plush. “That one.”</p><p>“No! I want that sash! The red one!” Shanks had thrown himself over the counted and was pointing in the general direction of a metal ring hanging from the ceiling, with several very colourful long pieces of fabric woven through and lightly flowing in the breeze. With a questioning look, the vendor waited for Mihawk’s input.</p><p>“I thought you wanted a Banana Gator?”</p><p>“I changed my mind.”</p><p>For a few seconds, Mihawk and Shanks stared at each other, neither looking away. The three scars were incredibly unnerving. They looked wrong. They did not fit Shanks’s face.</p><p>With a sigh, Mihawk turned to the booth owner.</p><p>“The red sash, please.”</p><p>Shanks cheered loudly and bowed graciously to accept his present. Mihawk was quite sure it was supposed to originally serve as a silk scarf but if Shanks decided he wanted to wrap it around his waist and use it as some kind of very luxurious, silken waistband, he was not the one stopping him. At least this specific tone of red did not clash with his hair. It looked good on him, even. Much better than a Banana Gator someone would have had to drag around for the rest of the evening.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, Mihawk was skimming the headlines of the World Economy Newspapers sipping a big cup of black coffee, when Shanks walked in.</p><p>“Here I am! There’s no chickening out from our fight now, Mihawk!”</p><p>How could a single person be this loud so early in the morning? Mihawk drained the last of his coffee in a single gulp. It was hot and burned down all the way to his stomach, where it settled comfortably, warming him from the inside and igniting the flames burning through his veins at the thought of <em>finally</em> crossing blades with Shanks. </p><p>“I would never dream of it.”</p><p>With more flourish than was strictly necessary, Mihawk put on his coat. It settled comfortably and heavily around his shoulders.</p><p>“Well, looks like someone dressed up.”</p><p>“If you rip this one, I will kill you, Shanks, so the Sea help me.”</p><p>Apologetically, Shanks lifted his hands in surrender. In that moment, Rayleigh walked down the stairs.</p><p>“Oh, where did you find that old thing. It’s been years since I last saw it.” He pointed at the red coat.</p><p>“I found it in the wardrobe in my room. Is it yours?” Mihawk was halfway out of one sleeve before Rayleigh could stop him by waving away.</p><p>“No, keep it. It looked never good on me anyway. But it’s nice to know your mother’s hard work won’t be wasted.”</p><p>Appreciatively, Mihawk swept his hand over the embroidery in the sleeves and the collar. It was a beautiful, even though the length to his ankles was something to get used to. The dark red of the sleeves with the deep black body even matched his hat.</p><p>He then noticed Rayleigh’s coat and general attire.</p><p>“We are you going?”</p><p>“Coming with you. One of you two brats is going to eat dirt today, and I would not miss that for anything in the world!” The grin the old man gave Mihawk reminded him of older times. Nothing good could come of it.</p><p>“Ha, I told you I’ll make you bleed! Look, even Rayleigh agrees with me! You better be ready to pay for my entire crew tonight, Mihawk! We drink a lot!”</p><p>“Who  do you think will lose?”, Mihawk asked, ignoring Shanks comment and not deigning to give him a good rebuttal.</p><p>“Oh, I’m not telling you! But I did bet with Shakky, and you know how that goes.” A mischievous glint shone in Rayleigh’s eyes, as he fixed his own sword to his hip and grabbed a small satchel laying on the bar.</p><p>“How what goes?”, Shanks asked. Mihawk sighed.</p><p>“Betting with Shakky never ends well. We should all hope that whoever she placed her trust in, wins. She hates being wrong; or losing money, for that matter. I that happens, we’ll have to find another bar for tonight.”</p><p>In shock, Shanks stared first at Mihawk, then at Rayleigh, and lastly at the empty staircase behind which they could hear Shakky rummaging around. Rayleigh clapped him on the shoulder and dragged him with him, out of the door.</p><p>“Let’s go! It’s no manners for a captain to keep his crew waiting!”</p><p>Mihawk softly pulled the door to the bar closed behind him. He did not want to even begin guessing how many times Roger had made Rayleigh wait for his father to say this.</p><p>***</p><p>Mihawk had asked Rayleigh for a deserted island, big enough for descent movement and the ability to go all out and his father had delivered. The small island he led them to was slightly further away from the Red Line and the Marine Headquarters, but good enough for Mihawk and Shanks’s need. They anchored the Red Hair Pirates’s ship several hundred meters away from shore and Mihawk watched as the crew loaded crates of food and bottles into the side boats and slowly lowered them to sea level.</p><p>A dark, tense silence settled between him and Shanks. The closer they got to the island, the heavier it got.</p><p>By the time the boat hit the sandbanks, dreadful anticipation had clawed its way around Mihawk’s heart, holding it tight, with no sign of letting go any time soon. This is what he had spend years waiting for.</p><p>He wanted a good fight.</p><p>He wanted to bleed.</p><p>He wanted to feel alive.</p><p>Now was his last chance, or all hope was lost forever. No matter how many people called him the strongest swordsman in the World, the title would be worthless. It would mean nothing.</p><p>What were reputation and skill worth if no one lived up to challenge them?</p><p>Mihawk jumped ashore, boots digging into the sand, not waiting for anyone else to follow him. They could do whatever they wanted. This was between Shanks and him only.</p><p>The beach was empty and nearly flat. Mihawk dropped his coat and hat into the light and fine sand. Better not risk getting them damaged. Then he turned around. Shanks stood several meters away and was handing his straw hat to Rayleigh, who took it with both hands and walked over to the rest of the crew who had made camp under some trees.</p><p>There was no need for rules, or for boundaries. To establish them would be an insult. Mihawk could feel the trepidation simmering through the air. He lifted Yoru and let the silvery blade turn black. On the other side, Shanks did the same.</p><p>This was the defining moment.</p><p>With one big jump, Shanks was immediately upon him. Mihawk’s arms vibrated as their blades clashed together, the strain tremendous and stronger than expected. One fell swoop, and Shanks had to go on distance again, a stark green slash ripping through the air. Somewhere in the distance, several trees crashed to the ground.</p><p>Mihawk began the chase after Shanks. This was what he needed.</p><p>With every clash, every encounter of their blades, he felt himself come alive, grow sharper, dive into the moment.</p><p>A sharp sting pulled him out of his trance. A thin line of red began to bloom along the back of his forearm, from his wrist to his elbow. The very same shade of beautiful, terrible, wonderful red broke the glint along Shanks’s blade.</p><p>Somewhere behind him, Mihawk could hear loud shouts and cries from where the red hair pirates had seated themselves. He paid them no mind.</p><p>Shanks grinned happily and looked at his sword, at the slightest drop of blood he had drawn and spread out along its length. As if he had already won.</p><p>No.</p><p>First blood was too easy. Too short.</p><p>This duel wasn’t over until Mihawk had lost, until he had lost everything; his life if necessary.</p><p>Wrapping both his hands around Yoru’s hilt, Mihawk fell back into his fighting stance. This time, he attacked first.</p><p>Hours passed that felt like minutes.</p><p>Quickly, sweat was beginning to glisten on his skin. Had he worn a shirt, it would have been drenched. Shanks looked to be more exhausted with every exchanged blow as well.</p><p>Metal clashing together, the billowing sweeps of their attacks raffling through the air. Mihawk needed a good, clear opening.</p><p>There.</p><p>Shanks attacked, straight forward, blade piercing like a spear. Mihawk stepped forward, own right foot stepping behind Shanks’s left, right behind his Achilles tendon. There it was again, that slight burn of a sword skimming over his deltoid muscle, piercing skin like a summer breeze going through a field of wild flowers. Led by instinct, by the song of his body on his own, Mihawk lifted his right arm and wrapped it around Shanks’s left from the outside, playing his fingers around the hilt of his sword like he was fingering a violin. The moment his hand gripped Yoru’s hilt backhanded, he caught Shanks’s wrist in the bend of his elbow, let gravity do its work and drove his blade into the sand right next to his throat.</p><p>“If we weren’t friends, you’d be dead right now”, he said, panting heavily, The words almost stuck in his throat, dry as paper and difficult to bring over his lips.</p><p>“Ain’t I glad you’ll make an exception for me in your little den of solitude?” Shanks struggled against Mihawk’s arm, still gripping Yoru and pinning his neck to the ground. The tendons in his neck stood out, sharp and tensed, but his smile did not falter.</p><p>“Don’t push your luck.” Mihawk finally let go and rested his hands on his left knee, taking a few seconds to catch his breath. Then, he let himself fall to the sand and onto his back in the warm, welcoming sand.</p><p>“Next time, it would be great if the two of you didn’t annihilate half an ecosystem!” Rayleigh shouted. Blinking, Mihawk lifted his head from the sand and looked over to the crew. They all looked to be alive, but his father had unsheathed his sword and was holding it loosely in his right hand.</p><p>Deep slashes marked their way through the sand and into the forest. The smell of charring wood filled the air.</p><p>Maybe they had overdone it a bit.</p><p>“Sorry! We’ll pay more attention next time!” Shanks shouted back, already half way back to standing. As soon as he was back on his feet, he extended his hand and pulled Mihawk up until they were both at eye level again. He did not let go.</p><p>“Next time, I’ll beat you.”</p><p>Mihawk did not let go either. He could feel the warmth spreading from Shanks’s fingers, wrapped around his own. Shanks had always been such a warm person, since as long as he had known him. Hot even, burning with passion and igniting everything he crossed paths with.</p><p>“Keep on dreaming. But I’ll enjoy seeing you try.”</p><p>Shanks laughed and let go, bending over to pick up his own sword from the sand. Mihawk, however, looked up into the sky, letting the tension flow out of his body. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and no cloud was obscuring the perfect, vast expanse of clear blue.</p><p>Mihawk laughed. He could not remember the last time he had been this exhausted. This alive. This <em>free</em>.</p><p>It was wonderful. If someone ever took this thrill away from him, he would most certainly die.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Will I ever stop making fun of and complaining about the flip flops? No. Also, Shakky and Rayleigh are just absolute goals and, on a totally unrelated note, I will continue my headcanon that Benn has simply always had the exact same hairstyle since he was a child and never once thought about changing it. He probably doesn’t even need the hairtie anymore, it just looks more natural that way. <br/>I’m not sure if Mihawk is shown to be right or left-handed in the manga, but for the arrow-scene on Sabaody, I decided he was going to be right handed. If canon indicates otherwise, please tell me so I can correct this! (I am trying to keep this fic canon-compliant, after all).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Married to the Sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Mihawk, Shanks and the rest of the Red Hair pirates celebrate their duel at Shakky’s bar.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is a bit shorter than the others and less things happen, because it was supposed to be first be the ending of the last chapter and then fused together with what will happen in Chapter 7, but I’ve finally decided that letting it stand alone would be the best way to read it. I really hope you enjoy this chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>By the time they returned to the Rip-Off-Bar, Mihawk had already begun taking Shanks up on his end of the deal and made him pay for an exquisite bottle of red wine from an autumn island in the South Blue. He had drunk a bottle from the same estate and vintage earlier that year and it had been succulent, so when he passed a wineshop and saw several bottles through the window, it did not take long for him to drag Shanks inside and mark the start of a wonderful celebratory evening.</p><p>Mihawk wasn’t a monster, of course, at least not more than people already made him out to be, so when their small group finally walked through Shakky’s door, this first bottle was long empty and both he and Shanks were already in a very good mood.</p><p>“So, who lost?”, Shakky asked from behind the counter, taking out the necessary amount of glasses and lining them up on top of the bar. Her eyes swept over the entire crew. Without hesitation or exception, all of them pointed at Shanks.</p><p>“The captain got his ass handed to him and he’s paying!”, someone added loudly from the back.</p><p>With a light chuckle, Shakky accepted the small bundle of bills Rayleigh handed her and stuck it inside her blouse.</p><p>She lit a fresh cigarette.</p><p>“So, what can I serve you boys to celebrate?”</p><p>“Rum!”</p><p>“Beer!”</p><p>“Sake!”</p><p>“Absinthe!”, everyone shouted, one trying to be louder than the other. Shakky smiled.</p><p>“Go get it yourselves, then.”</p><p>She was answered with a groan, but they all stood in line, waiting to be served. Mihawk let himself fall into one of the plush leather seats.</p><p>Yes, he would truly let lose tonight. Nothing quite like a party to finish off an already perfect day.</p><p>He watched as his mother served their guests with impressionable speed, a smile on her lips and her cigarette between her fingers. Shanks made his way over carrying a small tray with a carafe of red wine, a bulbous glass, a mug of beer and several shots, neatly lined up.</p><p>Without a word, Mihawk took one glass. They linked arms, and downed the shots in one go. The alcohol burned its way down hiss throat.</p><p>“Next time, I’m going to beat you, just you wait,” Shanks said, finger pointedly stabbing into Mihawk’s shoulder.</p><p>“Ha, keep on dreaming. I’ll like to see you try though.”</p><p>“Don’t laugh!”</p><p>“I’m not laughing.”</p><p>It was true. Despite Mihawk’s advanced state of inebriation, and the warmth spreading from his chest through his limbs into his entire body, feeling light and aloof, he had never been more serious. The fight with Shanks was the most alive he had felt in a long time, the most grounded, mind stretched thing along a single arrow, pointed towards a single goal.</p><p>Next year, he would do everything to feel like this again, even if he had to hunt Shanks down to Laugh Tale to do so.</p><p>The wine Shanks brought him was good. Somewhere, one of the crewmembers got out their fiddle and merely played along until the others joined him. Practically immediately, Shanks jumped up and began to sway on the dancefloor.</p><p>“I know this song!”, he said, and left his straw hat on the table, safe under Mihawk’s watchful eyes. The sandals made an awful noise on the wooden floorboards.</p><p>Mihawk poured himself another glass of wine. The music was nice. He could feel himself tapping along with it. He wasn’t drunk, no, but on the right path to get there.</p><p>The inside of the bar was hot. His coat was nice, and soft, but Mihawk felt like he was suffocating inside of it. It only took one movement to shrug it off. Maybe he should have worn a shirt. No. There was no need to overreact.</p><p>The wound on his forearm had stopped bleeding quite some time ago. Only a faint red line remained and soon, even that would disappear. The last physical proof of his first fight with Shanks. Softly, Mihawk traced the line where the incision used to be. He would never bear scars like the ones Shanks wore over his left eye. He was too good for that. But maybe, someday, permanent damage would be a nice way to remind him that there were other opponents, other fights worth living for, somewhere out on the deep wide ocean.</p><p>The music changed slightly. It was faster now, more upbeat. Maybe an accordion had joined in? Mihawk felt as if he might knew this song. Or at least his body did.</p><p>He drank another sip of wine. His right foot tapped along to the rhythm.  Strong, sinuous hands ripped the glass from him.</p><p>Shanks downed the rest of the wine in one go, his other hand was still loosely holding Mihawk’s. Despite his strength and the hard work he had to put up to fight and manoeuvre his ship through the Grand Line, Shanks skin was still soft, and warm, like the perfect pillow to fall on after a very tiring day.</p><p>“Stop sitting around the entire time, and have some fun! Come on, dance with me!”</p><p>The next moment, Mihawk found himself trapped around Shanks’s chest. A warm hand, soft and gentle, rested on his left biceps. His own left hand was wrapped tightly around Shanks’s right.</p><p>“Dance!”</p><p>And just like that, they were swinging around the dance floor, if the free space between the bar and the few tables could be called that. Arms going up and down, walking and waltzing around to the music. Shanks sung along, head thrown back and hair whipping around with each turn.</p><p>Someone jeered and the other’s joined in. Shanks disappeared somewhere but Mihawk’s feet kept moving. Yes, he knew this song. It was as if his body was moving all on his own, his limbs controlled by the strings of the fiddle like some sort of freeing marionette. The rush of excitement burned through his veins, shoes tapping a rhythm all of their own onto the floor as if it were a drum and he the tool to play it. Was that a trumpet? A trombone? Some sort of wind instrument. The atmosphere changed. He was light as a butterfly dancing on the lines and spaces of the staff, moving and jumping from one bar to the next. His arms were tracing the melody into the air, following the music, chasing the notes.</p><p>Shanks was back. From where? Mihawk didn’t remember. Why was he gone in the first place? They were showing everyone what it meant to <em>dance</em>! When did Shanks learn how to dance anyway?</p><p>Without stopping in his movement and continuing to shift his feet, Mihawk accepted another shot. Who was he to say no to a gift from Shanks? It burned down his throat, a flame keeping him alive. The glass in one hand, the other swinging free and keeping him in balance, Mihawk stepped, swung, danced to the tune filling the bar, feeling Shanks doing the exact same movements right next to him. Someone heckled again, but not at them, not at him. Shanks grabbed him by the arm, pointing somewhere, shouting something into his hear, but Mihawk could not understand what he was saying. Instead, his gaze was caught by Shakky and Rayleigh, swaying, swinging, sweeping across the floor, liberating a circle around them so the others didn’t run into them. Mihawk knew his parents. They had drunk as much as the last of these sea forsaken pirates . How the fuck were they still so steady on their feet?</p><p>The others began to clap in the rhythm of the music, urging them on, making the already hot air inside the bar burn.</p><p>“Phui, your parents sure knows how to scorch the floor,” Shanks let himself fall against the bar where Mihawk was catching his breath, watching his parents dance. How many songs had played already? Were they ever going to stop?</p><p>“But you’re not to bad yourself. Who knew it would be so easy to make you loosen up?” Playfully, Shanks nudged Mihawk with his elbow. It tickled slightly, but he did not resist the teasing.</p><p>“I’m surprised you managed to keep up at all. I would have thought your sea-legs wouldn’t know what to do with themselves on steady ground,” he said instead.</p><p>“Tss, you weren’t the only one Rayleigh had the chance to teach! Speaking of which! Look at the two of you, proving that even the darkest of kings can find Love to brighten his sodden existence!”</p><p>Slightly sweaty and under great applause from the rest of the crew, Rayleigh and Shakky let themselves fall onto the stools next to Mihawk and Shanks.</p><p>“More like the dark witch still found someone to keep her on land! Even Garp couldn’t do that!” Shakky teased, swatting Rayleigh on the shoulder, who was already drinking another beer.</p><p>“Hm, you know the old Garp?”, Shanks asked, curious.</p><p>Did he even know about Shakkys past as a pirate? Had Rayleigh ever told him?</p><p>“In passing. But you must not be so negative, red. You’ll find someone to make your heart soar with a thousand wings at the mere thought of waking up next to them, I’m sure”, Shakky diverted the question quickly.</p><p>Both Rayleigh and Shanks laughed. Even Benn Beckman, also tipsy if Mihawk could judge by the straightness of his path, joined in on the amusement.</p><p>“Oh no, dear Madam. No human could ever capture our captain’s love. He is married to the Sea and has no inclination to romance, no matter the stories people tell about his treasures he has brought into the their beds,” the first mate explained.</p><p>“Is that so?”, she asked and looked at Shanks with a newfound attention Shanks rarely saw in her. As if he was a newfound specimen she had discovered, a revelation the rest of her life or of the ones she cared about depended on. “Let’s hope the Sea knows how lucky she is to receive your unquestioned loyalty and devotion.”</p><p>With great certainty for someone who had already drunk more in one evening than most adults would ever be able to survive without blood poisoning and having just come back from a very agitated and swirly round of dancing, Shakky poured another round for everyone crowded around her.</p><p>Together, Mihawk, Shanks, Rayleigh, Benn Beckman and her raised their glasses.</p><p>“Cheers!”</p><p>And down the alcohol went, burning all the way down Mihawk’s oesophagus and up his brain. It was a good night. The atmosphere was amazing. Maybe he would ask Shanks for another round of dancing again. That had been fun. But this was his last glass, that much Mihawk knew. Drinking himself to death was a mistake he would leave to Shanks and his crew every day of the week.</p><p> </p><p>When Mihawk came down to the bar the next morning — noon, the clock on the wall corrected him — the sun shone through the windows like the impact of a buster call. His head was already pounding as he was a teenager who did not know his own limits. Rayleigh was humming away cheerfully while she dried one of the many glasses who piled up next to her, a testament to the party that had taken place the night before. Shakky was sitting at the bar and reading the newspaper.</p><p>“It looks like your little sparring session with Shanks caught some attention”, she said when Mihawk sat next to her. He gracefully accepted a mug of coffee — black — and some headache medicine from Rayleigh and glanced at the page his mother was showing him.</p><p>The headline read: <strong>HAWKEYE FACES OFF AGAINST UNKNOWN ROOKIE! ISLAND DESTROYED!</strong></p><p>Directly under it where three picture; on the left, his own bounty poster, on the right, Shanks’s poster and in the middle a drawing of him and the entire Red Hair crew. It must have been sketched when they had just arrived back at the archipelago, as Mihawk had draped his coat over his arm and was carrying Yoru on his shoulder, his left forearm wrapped in the red shawl he had won for Shanks’s at the shooting booth. The traces of blood were barely visible on the cloth and the cut had closed on their way back from the island, but it had been nice of Shanks to let him borrow it as a makeshift bandage.</p><p>At least they had caught him from his good side. And the feather on his hat even made him appear taller than Shanks.</p><p>Mihawk scanned the rest of the article quickly. Most of it was old news. His quick rise in worth at a young age, his last bounty, how he became one of the Seven Warlords, his alleged title of world’s strongest swordsman and how he had yet to lose a duel. The new information was the damaged they had allegedly caused to the island. The reporter talked about significant and irreparable damage to the landscape and ecosystem. Mary Geoise had recorded several minor tremors along the Red Line, with the island as their epicentre. Mihawk didn’t remember it being this bad.</p><p>“How did they even know about our duel?”, he murmured into his coffee, promptly burning his tongue.</p><p>“Oh, there was a reporter for the birds’s newspaper at the port when we arrived yesterday”, Rayleigh said. In desperation, Mihawk looked at his father. Why did it feel like his headache was only becoming stronger?</p><p>“Aw, don’t look like that, honey! I’m sure Shanks is already showing off the article as we speak!”</p><p>“I doubt Shanks is even awake right now.” In two more gulps, the coffee was gone. “Well, it’s time I pack up now.”</p><p>“You’re already going?”, Shakky asked.</p><p>“If I stay here too long, the Marines might get the wrong idea that they can begin to make me do things.”</p><p>Indeed, his boat had already anchored for two nights at the Marine-Port. It might give off the wrong impression if he left it there any longer.</p><p>“Well, don’t be a stranger.” Shakky stood up from her stool and Rayleigh came out from behind the bar. With a quick and deep hug, Mihawk said goodbye to both of them. When had they become so small? It was not possible he had grown this much.</p><p>“Thank you for the shaving set”, he said to Rayleigh and tipped his hat. “And tell Shanks to keep on training if he doesn’t want to be humiliated next year.”</p><p>Then, he left the bar and made his way towards the Marine post of archipelago.</p><p>Truth be told, Mihawk was already looking forward to his next duel with Shanks. His blood was simmering in his veins, spreading it’s warmth through every cell.</p><p>It was a good feeling to have something to be excited about.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Fun-fact: Mihawk is 23 in this chapter. “As if he was a teenager” my ass. <br/>Okay, this chapter was really light hearted and fun to write (I hope fun to read as well) and because the rest I mentioned in the beginning notes which I had originally planned plot-wise is going to much darker and emotionally heavy it felt wrong to push this all in into one chapter and upload, so I decided to cut it in two (again). So, get prepared for like… emotional pain for the next upload.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The return of the Conqueror</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They tell the stories about him. Stories of a monster tearing apart villages, slaughtering those who cannot answer his questions. “Where are they?”, he asks.<br/>Maybe those stories are the reasons Shanks finds Mihawk like this.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TA-DA! After nearly a month of waiting, I'm back!</p><p>Okay, last one. From chapter 3 up to this was originally supposed to be one chapter. Don’t ask me why I thought this was possible for me to pull of even though I know by now that time-dense passages are not my strong point? Anyway, now starts the emotional part. I hope you enjoy reading it!<br/>For context, if any of you are interested (even thought it’s not like… that important) this chapter takes place in 1506, roughly one year after the Boa Sister have been kidnapped and sold into slavery. Mihawk is trying to find them. (I know I said reading The Serpent and The Falcon isn’t necessary — and it isn’t — but Mihawk and the Boa sisters being siblings still is the entire premise for this series and this part in Hancock’s history and how I made Mihawk tell his reaction to the news in TS&amp;TF makes it a very important event in both their lives which I don’t think I can truly skip over. Also it’s a great set up for some major Shanks badassery, so we’re all gonna have fun with this one. I did writing it and hopefully you have reading it.)<br/>Now CONTENT WARNINGS: because of this chapter, I upped the age for this fic from “Teen and up audiences” to “Mature”. There will be graphic descriptions of injury and violence + blood so if you’re not comfortable with that, please don’t read it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Grand-Line was calm. Nothing but the regular tides moved the waves. Shakky’s last words and the click when Mihawk had hung up the transponder snail still echoed in his ears.</p><p>
  <em>There’s only so much you can do. Don’t lose yourself in your anger. </em>
</p><p>Mihawk would not lose himself. His goal was clear, he would not stop until he reached it. His current lead was very promising. The eternal pose pointed steadily forward, straight through the prow of the boat. According to the harbour manager on his last stop, he still had a few hours left until the next island, where the slaver was rumoured to stay most often.</p><p>“<em>The  Fishing Net</em>” they call the team and the ship. On the islands near the Red Line, people quivered whenever Mihawk had mentioned this name. If they were nervous when he entered the room, they were downright terrified when he asked where he could find them.</p><p>It had taken him months and sheer luck to get this far. To find the shadow of hope. Maybe he wasn’t too late. Maybe he could make up on the time he had fled from his family, from his past, from the Kuja. When he had left Amazon Lily all those years ago, it had been a definite departure. He knew he would never return. But he also knew how strong the leading crew was, how strong his sisters must be to have served on the ship despite their young age. And yet, all this strength and power had been for naught when it came to protect them from slave hunters.</p><p>How could this have happened? How could he have let it come this far? Why had he not sought them out earlier? They were his <em>sisters</em>, for fuck’s sake.</p><p>The blood on  Mihawk’s shirt — not his blood, <em>never</em> his blood — had dried and was sticking to his skin, rusty brown crust caught in his hair. It was uncomfortable and beginning to itch, but he did not have the time or mind to change out of the dirty clothes. He would be careful to extract information more cleanly next time. Hopefully, the intel from the traitor, now bloody and broken and split into several parts of what was once one body was right and he wouldn’t need to continue his search for his sisters for much longer.</p><p>He wouldn’t be too late. He couldn’t be too late.</p><p>Like a siren’s song, the ringing of the sharpening stone Yoru’s blade echoed in Mihawk’s ears. They would not escape him. He would find something of use on this island, something to get him closer to finding his sisters and those who thought they could trade them like butcher’s meat. For months, his blade was lusting for blood, his heart calling out for revenge and he would not stop until both cravings were satisfied.</p><p>No matter how much.</p><p>No matter how long.</p><p>No matter how many it took.</p><p> </p><p>The wind ripped a feather from his hat. It danced, red on white against a clear blue sky, and slowly swayed down onto the dark, heavy, wooden planks of the deck.</p><p>Left, right, left.</p><p>Without a sound, it landed, laying there, fluttering in the breeze. The crimson blood looked bad in contrast to the carmine fabric. Ugly. Wrong.</p><p>He would rip the feathers out one by one when his sisters were safe. When he was done. When the price for their suffering had been paid in full. He would rip the feathers out and drown the bloodied things in the cold dark depths of the oceans, so no piece of life of these monsters who called themselves humans would ever see the light of day again. He would rip the feathers out and replace them completely, start anew, leave the monster behind on the wide sea, the shadow of a memory but not enough to haunt him.</p><p>When he succeeded.</p><p><em>If he succeeded, </em>a traitorous little voice whispered at the back of his brain. Mihawk ignored it. He had never lost before. His sister’s lives and happiness at risk would not be the first time he was going to fail. The mere thought of betraying them like this was a dishonour to their names.</p><p>He would not allow for this to happen.</p><p> </p><p> The island was calm. It was a small piece of anybody’s dreams. White beach, clear turquoise water, no high waves and idyllic houses rowing clean streets. Something the travelling agencies of Sabaody would readily market at skyrocketing high prices.</p><p>Even without the blood staining his clothes, the massive sword on his back and his reputation both as a Warlord and a swordsman preceding him, Mihawk would have stuck out like a sore thumb.</p><p>In this state of appearance, however, conversations died down, people closed their windows and stepped away, adults made children turn around and hide their face against their torso. Mihawk did his best to ignore them. He didn’t want to scare them. Civilians were unimportant. But maybe they could point him into the right direction if they believed it could appease him and give them safety. If such a thing even existed with groups like the Fishing Net at large.</p><p>The street from the docks led straight down towards what appeared to be a marketplace. Several shops had signs advertising them, but only one inn had people lounging in front. They all stopped mid-movement or sentence when he walked by, right through the door.</p><p>The bartender was an elderly woman. Her white hair was tied up by a bandana and deep wrinkles marked her face, betraying an eventful and emotional life. Her tank-top revealed deep, jagged scar tissue covering her left collar bone and shoulder. She stared Mihawk down as he walked towards her. He wondered if this is could have been Shakky had she not given up her life of Piracy when he was born.</p><p>“Hawkeye. Are you here to cause trouble? Because I don’t have time for it,” the bartender said.</p><p>“Only if you try to obstruct me. But I think can help your fellow people send me on my way.”</p><p>Her eyes turned smaller, narrowing in distrust. Mihawk did not budge. It had been nearly 10 years since he had received his first bounty, four since he became a Warlord. The hostility from all sides his position brought him was something he had long grown accustomed to. Nonetheless, he would not indulge this town in getting comfortable simply because he happened to have some stories about his deeds and anger travel through the Grand-Line.</p><p>“I’m searching for someone. <em>The Fishing Slavers</em>. I was informed I could find them here.”</p><p>“You’re a pirate who fights for the World Government. What is your business in slavery that you have to ask <em>me</em>?”</p><p>“My business is none of yours. Answer my questions, and I will leave you alone and in peace.”</p><p>Of course, Mihawk had heard the rumours about the World Nobles. Had seen their so called servants crawl around Mary Geoise and was aware of the Marines on Sabaody calling on plausible deniability about the merchandise being traded in the unlawful district, too dangerous for them too enter. He would not indulge a civilian with any insight to his feelings on these matters. He had more important things to chase, people to find.</p><p>The bartender starred at him for a few more seconds, not looking down, never backing away. Then she sighed.</p><p>“If you want to find these people, you’re in the wrong bar. Walk down the street until you get to the outskirts, there you should find an inn called <em>The drunk Fishman. </em>The entire group, or at least big parts of it, are currently staying there. Is that answer enough for you to leave me and my customers alone?”</p><p>For a few more seconds, they stared at each other. Mihawk could feel how she tried not to let her eyes glide to Yoru’s hilt visible behind his head, the blood rusting his shirt. He could feel it under the tips of his fingernails as well. It was impressionable how well she stood her ground against him and the sight he offered. Likely, a certain strength of character was needed if you wanted your business to survive on the Grand Line.</p><p>With a court nod but not a single word, Mihawk walked out of the bar and followed the street like she had told him to. When he kicked in the door of the bar, he was greeted with a group of dirty, foul looking beasts, swords and weapons drawn.</p><p>Yoru weighed heavy in his hand. It dragged him forward, lusting for blood on its blade, blood that deserved to be spilled and satisfy the thirst of this island’s soil.</p><p>No, it was too soon. They painted him a monster, and he was one in every sense of the word, but he was a monster with a goal. He could not allow himself to succumb to his selfish, short-sighted cravings.</p><p>“Are you the slavers?”</p><p>Blades turned towards him. Guns got cocked. Mihawk could feel the fear and stench of hope for glory roll out of every single one of their pores. They knew who he was.</p><p>“Hawkeye! What a surprise! What’d’ya want, man?”</p><p>One of them, a tall human woman with hair cropped to her shoulders, swaggered towards him. A less perceptive observer might have mistaken it for confidence, but Mihawk saw right through her act. She reeked like every single one of her crewmembers. He said nothing. It was hard to hold Yoru back. It had been so long since they had enjoyed a good fight, exhaustion for its own sake and beauty.</p><p>“You’re on the side of the government, aye? If its cargo you want, I’m sorry to disappoint. All of it is sold. All of <em>them</em>. Whatever you wanna call the merchandise. You’re gonna have to wait ‘til we stock up again. Shouldn’t take too long. A few weeks at most.”</p><p>
  <em>Cargo. </em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Sold. </em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Mihawk was too late.</p><p>Today would there would be no fight. Just business like usual.</p><p>Yoru sliced through the house, the walls, the furniture, the other inhabitants. Cold, raging calm settled in his body as the bodies hit the floor and the stench of their misplaced ambitions slowly faded, one person at a time. The hot blood splattering about, drenching the blade, the clothes, the hair, the ground, did nothing to cool him down.</p><p>The woman was still alive. She was lying on the floor, bleeding, and only breathing in large, rattling gasps, but she was conscious. One of Mihawk’s slashes had caught her side, blood drenching her clothes at waist-height and slowly pooling on the floor, painting the already dark floor from brown to black. With the tip of his shoe, Mihawk pushed the cloth aside and uncovered the wound. It looked ugly but clean, the edges sharp and smooth. Slowly, keeping his eyes on her face, watching her follow his movement with terror in her eyes, he wedged the blade into the crevice. He was careful not to push any further than he had already cut, not harming her any further but keeping the threat and the pain hovering over her flesh like clouds over the ocean.</p><p>“A few months ago, you kidnapped three small girls from the Kuja pirate ship. Around twelve, thirteen years old. Where are they now?”</p><p>The woman coughed up some blood. Either she had swallowed it or some of her organs were damaged, possibly even her lungs.</p><p>“Look, man, I told ya. Everything’s sold.”</p><p>Now Mihawk dug Yoru’s tip deeper, upwards. As if it were butter, the blade chiselled it’s way through the muscle, skin, deepening the wound and freeing more blood.</p><p>“Who bought them?” The words tasted like bile on Mihawk’s tongue. He would wash his pain away with the group’s screams of suffering, beginning with his current victim.</p><p>“Who- How the fuck am I supposed to know? I don’t even know who you’re talking about!”</p><p>“Let me ask you again before I cut your miserable little life out of your miserable little body. Who bought the three Kuja girls?”</p><p>“Man, you don’t have to do this! You’re a Warlord! We’re on the same side!”</p><p>With more force than necessary, Mihawk yanked Yoru out of her body and let the tip rest on the wooden floor right next to her ribcage. Right next to her heart.</p><p>“You’re right. I’m a Warlord. That is the reason why no one will ask any questions about your untimely demise.”</p><p>It was over quickly. Nearly to soon. With little more than a wet squelch, the apparent leader of the slaver group fell into two pieces. Mihawk had done good sharpening Yoru before stepping foot on the island.</p><p>“Die, you bastard!” Announcing himself through his battle-cry and betrayed by his very presence, one of the minions jumped towards him, sword raised, defence non-existent. Mihawk caught him in mid-air.</p><p>“Who bought the three Kuja-Girls?”, he asked, driving the blade deeper into his preys shoulder.</p><p>“I don’t-“</p><p>Before the last ounce of breath was exhaled, Mihawk was already upon the next man.</p><p>“Who did you sell the three Kuja-Girls to?”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>The slash which cut the man in two brought the entire wall behind him down with it. Each time Mihawk asked the question — such a simple question, really, why could no one give him an answer? — the rage grew colder inside him and the blood covered him like a warm blanket of a mother welcoming her child home.</p><p>“We don’t know, Hawkeye! We didn’t know who they were!”, some pleaded before they inevitably met their end. He would not stop until one of them, someone, anyone, could give him the answer he needed.</p><p>Had there been this many people in the bar when Mihawk had come in? No matter how often he asked, how many he cut down without hesitation or mercy, there always seemed to be more.</p><p>“Hawkeye, what are you-“</p><p>“Stop! We-”</p><p>“Go hide from-“</p><p>Without hesitation, without thinking, Mihawk cut down everyone who didn’t give him the answer he sought. The splatters of red, the arches of blood stood stark against the blue sky and the white clouds, falling to the ground only to be immediately absorbed by the dust and the dirt.</p><p>“<strong>Where are the Kuja-Girls?</strong>”</p><p>No one answered. More blood spilled.</p><p><em>Cling</em>.</p><p>Light and high rang the tone of resonance. Yoru was blocked. Something, another blade pressed against it, refused Mihawk from going any further.</p><p>He infused the blade with more Haki. The other sword held strong.</p><p>That was impossible. No one could withstand Yoru and Mihawk’s attacks. No one nearby was strong enough.</p><p>“Mihawk, enough. Stop this.”</p><p>He knew this voice. The red stood stark against the empty cold blue sky.</p><p>Shanks had not changed a bit since they had last seen each other. Not physically. But he looked different. More serious. More mature. Nothing like the happy-go-lucky teenager Mihawk had danced with on Sabaody.</p><p>He took the force from Yoru and took one step back.</p><p>“Do not meddle in my affairs, Shanks. This has nothing to do with you.”</p><p>“You’re killing them.”</p><p>“I’m a pirate. Killing is what I do.”</p><p>“Not like this. Not you.”</p><p>“I will not ask you again, Shanks. I do not have the time to indulge you with a fight.”</p><p>Oh, but how he wanted to. Their duel from one year ago was still fresh on Mihawk’s mind. The ecstasy, the joy, the skill. He would give anything to experience it again. Nearly everything. Not children though. Not his sisters. Not his anger. Not his righteousness.</p><p>Shanks took one step forward.</p><p>“I won’t allow you.”</p><p>For all the time Mihawk had spent on this island, the blood slowly covering him inch by inch had wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Now, it was pressing down on him like another body, an opponent trying to pin him down, to overpower him, to make him submit.</p><p>No.</p><p>Mihawk would not give up. He would not allow Shanks to dominate him like this. To sweep his thoughts, desires and goals aside because he disliked them. To denounce them as negligeable. Mihawk would find his sisters, no matter how long and how many bodies it took him. Not even Shanks could stop him.</p><p>The pressure did not stop. It had been so long since Mihawk had ever felt this kind of power. The possibility of losing was right in front of him, right in his grasp.</p><p>Who would have thought the little brat from that beach, who could barely hold his alcohol when Mihawk had taken him to a bar for the first time, had the Will of a Conqueror?</p><p>Suddenly Shanks was close. Too close. His hand was warm and wet as he lifted it to Mihawk’s face and wiped away some of the blood. No, not away. There was too much of it at this point. Shanks could only smear it across his cheek, dragging it deeper into his skin. The blood was hot, burning, fuelling the rage inside Mihawk, but Shanks’s touch was warm, inescapable, omnipresent. It was a mountain towering to the sky, Nature itself declaring a challenge. Mihawk wanted to fall to his knees, look up in awe and bear witness to the sight of absolute beauty. That much he deserved.  </p><p>He did not — <em>could not</em> — resist when hands wrapped around his arm, dragging him along, pressure on his back and guiding him back to the port. They walked over rubble, broken stones, Mihawk was sure he saw some limbs sticking out from the debris. Walked past the bartender from the first bar, who had pointed him towards the slaver’s crew. Had she always only had one eye? The wound seemed fairly fresh, still covered in bandages. She did not look away when Mihawk stared at her. Then she was out of sight.</p><p>No one said a single word until Shanks locked the door to his cabin behind them and poured them a cup of sake each.</p><p>“How did you find me?”, Mihawk asked.</p><p>“It’s been a year, so I came looking for you. As soon as we reached the Grand-Line it was only a matter of following the path with the most blood.”</p><p>That made sense.</p><p>Shanks downed the cup and put it down loudly on the small table between them. Contemplating, following the ripples spreading from the centre to the edge of his own drink, Mihawk followed suit. It was nice sake. Of course Shanks would not hesitate to get out the good stuff for their yearly reunion.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Are you truly asking why I chased down a group of slavers?”</p><p>Shanks shook his head. His hair swayed slightly in the dim light.</p><p>“We both know how the world is. I’m not asking why you did it. I’m asking why like <em>this</em>.”</p><p>“Because they deserve it.”</p><p>“You killed civilians, Mihawk. You nearly killed me.”</p><p>There was anger in Shanks voice, laced with disappointment. The mountain was back, but Mihawk would not cower, would not back down in front of this challenge. He knew exactly where the weak points in Shanks’s sail were to make his ship drift aloof on the waves.</p><p>“If you were too weak to resist a basic attack like that, I would never have allowed you to stay around long enough to be able to trace me down like this.”</p><p>“Mihawk.”</p><p>There it was. That pressure of Conqueror’s Haki, of indominable Strength of Will. Mihawk could feel goosebumps break out all over his skin, slightly cracking the blood which had begun to dry and crumble.</p><p>“What do you want, Shanks? Why are you here, wasting your most expensive drink on me?”</p><p>Shanks stared him down. It was unnerving. He didn’t even blink. The Conqueror’s Haki was still rolling off him in waves, pinning Mihawk to his chair and forcing him to claw his nails into the chair, the table, anything to hold him upright. Was this what people felt like when they saw <em>Hawkeye</em>?</p><p>“Join my crew.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>The words left Mihawk’s lips before he could think about what he was saying. He was glad. If he were to begin thinking, begin contemplating Shanks’s very serious offer, he might say something he was going to regret later.</p><p>“Why not? Is it because Benn is already my first mate? Because you don’t want to sail under the command of someone who’s weaker than you? Tell me why.”</p><p>This wasn’t the first time Shanks had asked Mihawk to join him. It wasn’t the first time Mihawk refused. But this time was different. This time would be the last.</p><p>Mihawk let out a sigh. Carved his hand through his hair. More blood feel to the floor in flakes and thin rusty powder.</p><p>“Shanks, we’ve known each other for years. I know you like no one else. Not the other cabin-boy, not Rayleigh, not Beckman. We’ve both gone out to sea in the search of freedom. Joining you would ask an intolerable sacrifice, one I will never be ready to give.”</p><p>“What sacrifice? You’d still-“</p><p>A simple hand gesture. Nothing else was necessary to cut Shanks off. This wasn’t his time to ask questions.</p><p>“We’ve both found what we’re looking for. But what you’re asking of me… I can only be part of your crew if I do so with everything I have. My strength would be yours. My sword would be yours. My life, myself, my heart, all of it would belong to <em>you</em>, forever. To give up my freedom, to give up myself more than I already have, when I have neither right nor hope to ask you to do the same, would be the greatest cruelty. I am a pirate, despised by the entire civilised world; first because of my birth and later due to my own actions. I am a Warlord, a traitor to every Pirate and Rebel who sails the Seas of this Earth. My dignity is the last thing I still own, and I cannot give it up for you. I <em>will not</em> give it up <em>to</em> you. So please, if you value our history, if you value me in any way that is of importance, do not ask me this again.”</p><p>Shanks looked uncharacteristically sombre.</p><p>“I won’t,” he said, after a moment.</p><p>Together, they drank another round of Sake. The bottle was empty now. Shanks walked Mihawk to the door of the cabin. Only a piece of wood mounted on hinges was still separating him from the sun, the sea, his Freedom.</p><p>“Mihawk…” Shanks said. His hand was wrapped in a loose fist. “I didn’t know. And you’re right. I cannot give these things to you, even if I wanted to. I will never ask you again. But don’t mistake this for apathy or think that I do not care for you. I simply wish to make your freedom easier.”</p><p>In Shanks’s hand lay a piece of paper. It was small, barely more than three fingers long and wide, and completely blank.</p><p>“This-“</p><p>“Take it. Don’t give me anything in return. And don’t take any pity on me the next time we fight.”</p><p>Gently, Mihawk slipped his own fingers into Shanks’s. They were warm to touch, like a dream of feathers ghosting over his nerves. More softly than he had ever thought himself to be possible, he turned their hands around so that the back of Shanks’s hand was now facing the ceiling, the Vivre-Card still pressed between their palms and lifted it to his lips.</p><p>This was the closest they would ever get. The closest he would ever allow himself to be.</p><p>“I will never betray you like this.”</p><p> </p><p>The sun was still high in the sky and the village still lying in shambles, grieving and burying the dead. The blood was cracking over Mihawk’s skin, flaking in his hair, pulling on the hair all over his body with every movement he made. Vaguely, he saluted the Red Hair Pirates and prepared his down sail. As his boat took on speed and the island began fading into the horizon, Shanks’s last words still echoed in Mihawk’s ears.</p><p>
  <em>“Good luck on your search.”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Me, an aromantic who doesn’t understand the appeal of lovestories: Okay, how the hell am I going to convey the evolution of Mihawk’s feelings for Shanks + the love declaration in a way that seems believable and in-character?<br/>Literally no idea how it worked out. So, euh, leave a short comment if that’s something I managed to bring across somehow?<br/>P.S.: For everyone who doesn’t follow me on Tumblr, yes, one of the important points I jotted down for this chapter literally was “Mihawk is horny for Conqueror’s Haki. He’s horny for a challenge. No can do on that front, I’m sorry.” Should I take this as a withdrawal symptom because we still don’t know how the entire Chapter 956 situation  turned out and we haven’t seen him since (keeping my fingers crossed for chapter 1000 though! Let’s hope for good news!)?</p><p>Merry christmas to all of you who celebrate, and a happy new year in general! Let's read each other in 2021!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ta-da! I hope you liked it and see you next week (approximately) for the next chapter!</p><p>If you ever want to talk (or just... want to know what incoherent thoughts I have either about writing this fic or One Piece in general) you can find me on Tumblr @<a href="https://mihawque.tumblr.com/">mihawque.tumblr.com</a></p><p>Please don't hesitate to leave a kudo,  a comment and/or bookmark this fic if you liked it!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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